The Wistful Crossroads
The rain fell in sheets, gray and relentless, washing the soot from the cobblestones of Ironbridge. I stood on the corner, watching the steam rise from the manholes, curling like spirits trying to escape the earth. My coat was wet. My bones were cold. But it was my hands that trembled most. Elias walked away from me. He did not look back. He never did when he was angry. He simply turned his...
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