The Pale Banner
The fog sits heavy on the cobblestones, a thick, wet blanket that smothers the gaslights until they glow like dying embers. You stand at the window of your small apartment, watching the street below. It is a city of iron and steam, of clanging carriages and the relentless churn of industry. The air tastes of coal dust and wet wool. You are thirteen, though you feel older, burdened by a...
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