The Pale Verdict
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a grey, suspended mist that clung to the cobblestones of the old quarter like a second skin. You walked with your head bowed, the weight of the brass instrument case against your back a familiar, comforting anchor in a world that had become increasingly fluid and unstable. The air smelled of wet wool and ozone, the metallic tang of a storm that had...
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