The Wistful Witness
The road into the valley was not merely a path of dirt and stone but a wound in the earth that bled mud under the relentless, gray weeping of the autumn sky, a journey that seemed to stretch itself out before Aldous Vane like a sentence being pronounced by a judge whose face was hidden behind the mist, for he was a man who carried the weight of his own history in the very marrow of his bones, a...
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