The Wistful Show
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the old district into a mirror of gray and black. I stood on the corner of Vane Street, my trench coat heavy with water, watching the light bleed from the sky. The building across the way, the Ashworth Manor, stood like a jagged tooth in the gums of the city. It was a place of stone and silence, of high ceilings and lower...
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