The Wistful Throne

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-19 20:10:38 -

The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in so much as it rose, a thick, gray sludge that smelled of wet coal and rotting turnips, clinging to the cobblestones and the iron rails of the railway tracks that cut through the town like a scar. It was a place where the industrial age had come to die, the great foundries silent and rusting, their chimneys now hollow throats that exhaled nothing but cold air....

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