The Distant Legend
The wool coat did not fade, a fact that stood in stark, uncomfortable contrast to the rapid decay of everything else in the village of Oakhaven. It was a garment of such deep, saturated crimson that it seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it, a color so profound it bordered on the arterial. Elias Thorne, a man whose hands were perpetually stained with the indigo dye of his trade, had...
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