A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…
The squire’s daughter had few friends, and many enemies. But, friend or foe, they were appalled when her father gave her in marriage to the bony octogenarian who was the king’s tax collector.
Next year, a much younger man came to collect the taxes. When asked where his predecessor was he laughed a cold sort of a laugh.
“My father is no longer with us. It is often thus when a foolish old man takes a bride young enough to be his daughter. The woman? She lies at his side as a good wife should. I cut her throat myself.”
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