The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall so much as it suspended itself in the air, a fine, gray mist that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and settled into the hollows of his eyes, blurring the sharp lines of the world into a soft, indistinct smear of watercolor. He had walked for hours, or perhaps days, through the labyrinthine streets of Oakhaven, a town that existed in the liminal space between memory...
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