The Wistful Ashes
The rain had not stopped in three days, a steady, grey weeping that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, reflective mirror of the sky. Elias Thorne stood before the tall, narrow window of the communal dormitory, his reflection staring back at him with hollow, dark-rimmed eyes. He was a man who had once moved with the grace of a dancer, his hands quick and clever, but now his...
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