The Wistful Petal
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into a slick mirror of the sky. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of iron on his tongue and the distinct, chilling sensation that he was wearing something that did not belong to him. He sat up in the narrow bed of his lodgings above the chandler’s shop, his heart hammering a frantic...
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