The Faded River

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2026-08-17 18:23:14 -

The Faded River

The smell of rot was the first thing. It clung to the wool of my coat, a damp, sweet stench that no amount of scrubbing could lift. I stood on the pier in Ashford, watching the train pull away. It was a small train. A black ribbon of smoke uncoiling into the gray morning. I watched until it was gone. Until the tracks were just iron lines in the mud. Then I turned back to the shop. My name is...

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