The Wistful Show
The wind did not howl so much as it shivered, a high, metallic tremor that ran through the skeletal framework of the abandoned grain silo and vibrated against the sternum of Elias Thorne, who stood with his back to the rusted door, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen battle in forty years, the leather wrap worn smooth by the friction of his own obsessive maintenance, the...
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