The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the window of the small, rented room in the village of Oakhaven, a persistent, grey thumb wiping away the world beyond the glass, leaving only a smeared, indistinct blur that felt more like a memory than a reality. Elias Thorne sat on the edge of the narrow bed, his boots unbuttoned and lying in the corner, the leather stiff with the cold...
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