The Wistful Silence
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended mist of grey and slate that clung to the branches of the dead oaks and turned the air into a heavy, breathing thing. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the chasm, his boots sinking into the mud that had once been a forest path, and he watched the world dissolve into a blur of wet darkness. He had come here to find the thing that had taken...
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