The Golden Downtown
The rain in the city of Aethelgard did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slick and heavier. Elias Vane stood behind the counter of his shop on Weaver’s Row, watching the water bead on the glass of the display case. Inside the case lay a single pair of gloves, made of a fabric so fine it seemed to breathe. They were white, not the stark white of snow or bone, but the deep, creamy...
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