The Distant Metropolis
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of Hollow Creek into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the smokestacks of the iron foundry. I walked with my head down, the wet wool of my coat clinging to my shoulders like a second skin, feeling the cold seep into the marrow of my bones. It was a cold that did not merely chill the flesh but seemed to...
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