The Faded Ruin
The loom had not been touched in three days. It sat in the corner of the workshop, a skeletal frame of oak and iron, waiting for a hand that would not come. Silas Vane stood before the window, his back to the machine, watching the snow settle upon the cobblestones of the alley. The city of Oakhaven was silent, a silence so heavy it pressed against the glass like a physical weight. Inside, the...
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