The Wistful Saga
The train did not stop. It hummed. A low, mechanical drone that vibrated in the bones of the car. Elias sat by the window. The glass was cold. It fogged where his breath touched it. He wiped it away. The view was static. Gray. Endless. He looked at his hands. They were stained. Black ink. Or soot. It did not matter. He rubbed them. The stain remained. "Is it safe?" The voice came from the...
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