The Wistful Mirror
The fog in the industrial district of New Ashworth did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that smothered the iron lungs of the city and the faces of the men who walked its soot-stained streets with the grim determination of those who had long since forgotten the sun. Thomas Bradshaw, a man whose very name suggested a lineage of sturdy, unyielding timber, found...
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