The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray veil that turned the world into a watercolor of bruised purples and sickly greens, a perpetual twilight that seeped into the marrow of the stone walls and the bones of the man who stood alone in the center of the vast, empty ballroom, his uniform immaculate but his soul fraying at the seams like old silk. Thomas Bradshaw was...
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