The Faded Apartment
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in a steady, gray curtain against the stained-glass windows of the workshop, blurring the world outside into a watercolor smear of mud and wet slate. Elias Thorne did not look up from his bench. His hands, stained with the indigo dust of the dye vats, moved with the precision of a surgeon, threading a needle through the delicate lace of a bridal...
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