The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall in the valley of the Weeping Stone; it seeped up from the earth like a slow, gray breath, misting the cobblestones until the air itself felt wet and heavy against the skin. Silas Vane stood at the edge of the ancient well, his fingers trembling not from the chill, which was sharp enough to bite through his wool coat, but from the terrifying weight of the object clutched in...
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