The Pale Fracture
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a persistent, gray veil that turned the world into a watercolor left out in a damp cellar, where the colors bled and lost their definition until all that remained was a uniform, suffocating mud. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the refectory hall, his back to the high arched windows which offered no view of the sky, only the reflection of...
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