The Wistful Skyline
The train did not stop at the station, but it slowed to a crawl, a heavy, breathing beast of iron and soot that seemed to hesitate before the platform where Elias stood. The air smelled of coal dust and damp wool, a scent that had permeated his skin since the day the war had ended, a scent he had tried to scrub away with lye and cold water but which remained, stubbornly woven into the fibers of...
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