The Golden Downtown
The frost came down on the valley like a white shroud, burying the old roads and the new ones alike, and Elias Thorne found himself standing at the edge of the precipice with nothing but a single coat on his back. It was a heavy thing, woven from a fabric that seemed to drink the moonlight, deep indigo and black, stitched with threads of gold that shimmered when the wind moved. He had worn it...
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