The Wistful Saga
The carriage wheels groaned against the cobblestones of the old city, a sound that seemed to resonate not just in the wooden axles but in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s aging bones, a deep, tectonic friction that marked the passage of another year he was no longer certain he possessed. He sat in the corner of the public transport vehicle, his coat collar turned up against a chill that had nothing...
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