The Distant Legend
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the lower quarter into a slick, black mirror that reflected the flickering gaslights of the city above. Elias Thorne sat in the armchair by the cold fireplace, his hands resting on the arms of the chair, fingers interlaced so tightly that the knuckles had turned a pale, waxy blue. He was a man carved from the same grey stone...
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