The Wistful Letter
The quill scratched against the parchment, a dry, rasping sound that cut through the silence of the stone chamber. Sir Aldric’s hand trembled, not from cold, though the air in the Tower was thick with the damp of the river below, but from the sudden, violent drain of vitality that accompanied his final act of defiance. He was writing to the King. The letter was short, urgent, and stripped of...
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