The Last Drop of Mercy
The sky over the village of Oakhaven had been a bruised, oppressive purple for three years. The earth had long since surrendered, cracking into jagged geometric patterns that looked like a map of a broken heart. In the Victorian twilight of the 1880s, water was no longer a right; it was a ghost. Arthur was a man carved from the same grey stone as the cliffs surrounding the valley. A retired...
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