The Wistful Saga
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the city into a watercolor of slate and steel. I stood on the corner of 4th and Main, watching the umbrellas pass like a slow, dark river. My coat was damp at the shoulders, the wool heavy with the weight of the wet air. I was waiting for Silas, or rather, I was waiting for the absence of Silas to finally...
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