The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a grey, persistent mist that clung to the wool of my cloak and the iron of my gauntlet, turning the world into a soft, indistinct blur of mud and stone. I stood at the edge of the Blackwood, where the forest began to breathe its cold, damp exhale into the valley, and watched my brother, Thomas, climb into the carriage. He did not look back. He never...
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