The Faded Quadrant
The morning the stationmaster finally decided to leave, the fog had swallowed the rails whole, rendering the iron lines that had once defined the horizon into mere ghosts beneath a grey, weeping sky. Elias Thorne stood on the platform, his uniform pressed so tightly against his frame it seemed to vanish into the flesh, the brass buttons catching the dull, diffuse light like trapped stars. He...
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