The Wistful Skyline
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that turned the soot-blackened streets of Ironbridge into a smear of charcoal and ash. Elara moved through it not with the grace of a dancer, but with the heavy, grinding inevitability of a machine part that had lost its lubrication. She was not entirely human, nor was she entirely beast. She was a creature of the foundry’s...
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