The Faded Chronicle
The rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it hovered, a persistent, wet veil that turned the slate roofs into dark, glistening mirrors of the sky. I stood on the corner of Elm and Fourth, my collar turned up against the damp, watching the steam rise from the grates in a slow, gray spiral. It was a town that felt less like a place and more like a held breath, suspended in the late...
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