The Wistful Show
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the grey water pooled in the gutters of the old industrial quarter, turning the cobblestones into a slick, mirror-like sheet that reflected the smokestacks of the mill. You stood on the corner of Blackwood Lane, your hands clasped behind your back, feeling the damp cold seep through the heavy wool of your uniform. It was a cold that did not just...
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