The Wistful Show
The hand trembles. It has always trembled. I am a ghost of a man. Or perhaps a man made of ghost. My name is Elias Thorne, though it rarely matters who I am. It matters only what I carry. And what I carry is not a sword. It is not a map. It is a pulse. A beat. A life that is not mine, yet thrums within my own veins. I walk the moor. The fog is thick. It clings to the heather. It chills the...
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