The Wistful Skyline
You wake with the taste of iron on your tongue, a metallic ghost that lingers despite the water you have drunk, and you find yourself standing in the doorway of the textile mill, not because you wish to be there, but because the dream has dragged you back to the threshold where your life is measured in shifts and silence. The sky above the town of Ashford is the color of a bruise, a deep,...
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