The Wistful Skyline
The train cut through the fog like a hot knife through cold butter, a long, iron serpent shedding steam and soot as it slowed its pace toward the terminus of Millhaven, a town that sat in the shadow of the great smelting works where the air itself tasted of copper and old blood. Eleanor Vane stepped down from the car, her boots sinking slightly into the mud that had been churned by weeks of...
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