The Wistful Skyline
The wool of the great red cloak, which had once been the color of fresh arterial blood and now sat upon the floor like a dried, brown stain, was the first thing that caught the eye of Silas Thorne, a man whose hands were stained not with ink or blood but with the grey dust of the archives he had spent his final years guarding. He lay in the narrow bed of the upper chamber, the air thick with...
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