The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a pervasive, wet mist that clung to the thatched roofs of Oakhaven and soaked into the very bones of the cobblestones, turning the ancient market square into a slick, mirror-like void that reflected the grey, indifferent sky above. I walked with a limp that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the years I had spent chasing a...
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