The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, persistent mist that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick mirrors of gray stone. You walked through it, your boots heavy, your collar turned up against the chill that seemed to settle not in the air but in the marrow of your bones. You were not here for the sightseeing, nor for the quiet dignity of the cathedral whose spires...
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