The Symphony of the Displaced Souls
The London fog was not merely a weather pattern; it was a living thing, a grey, suffocating lung that exhaled coal smoke and the metallic tang of the Thames into every open pore of the city. For Arthur Winsley, a junior archivist in the subterranean vaults of the Undercity, the fog was a comfort. It mirrored the state of his own life—muted, obscured, and safely tucked away from the glare of the...
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