The Faded Ruin
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash the streets clean; it merely darkened the grime, turning the cobblestones into slick, black mirrors that reflected the soot-stained faces of those who walked them. Elias Thorne, a man whose hands were permanently stained with the rust of iron and the oil of gears, stood at the window of his workshop on Weaver’s Lane, watching the water streak down the glass in...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews