The Wistful Show
The rain fell upon the city of Oakhaven not as water, but as a fine, silver mist that clung to the cobblestones and the high, arched windows of the merchant houses, turning the entire metropolis into a ghostly reflection of itself in the morning light. Silas Thorne walked through this shimmering haze, his boots striking a rhythmic, heavy cadence against the wet stone, each step a deliberate act...
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