The Wistful Skyline
The carriage wheels bit into the mud of the long, winding lane that cut through the heart of the Blackwood estate, a path so ancient and worn that it seemed less like a road and more like a scar left by some great, forgotten beast, and Thomas sat in the back, his hands white-knuckled on the leather strap, feeling the vibration of the wheels travel up through the seat and into his bones, a...
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