The Pale Bridge
The train shook the marrow of the glass. It was a small, round glass, thick at the base, clear as ice that had forgotten how to melt. It sat on the velvet seat beside Elias, trembling in time with the locomotive’s heavy breath. Outside, the rain lashed the windows, blurring the industrial sprawl of the valley into a smear of grey and rust. The air inside the carriage smelled of wet wool, stale...
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