The Wistful Witness
The sky did not fall so much as it fractured, a sudden and violent shattering of the horizon that split the air into jagged shards of violet and bruised gold. Elias Thorne, a man whose spine had been set straight by decades of rigid duty and whose soul had been worn thin by the friction of obedience, stood at the edge of the cliff where the moor met the churning grey sea. The wind, which had...
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