The Distant Whispers
The train did not arrive at the station so much as it seeped into the valley, a long, iron serpent shedding its breath into the damp, violet twilight. Elias Thorne sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, his posture rigid as a board, his hands resting on his knees with a stillness that suggested not peace, but a profound and terrible exhaustion. He was returning to the estate of his late...
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