The Distant Journey
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that turned the world outside the window into a blurred watercolor. Inside the kitchen of the large, dim house on Blackwood Lane, the air smelled of damp wool and the faint, sweet rot of the apples left too long in the cellar. Thomas sat at the table, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. He was...
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