The Faded Chronicle
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the skin of the city like a second, damp soul, obscuring the sharp edges of the concrete towers and softening the neon bleeds of the storefronts into watercolor smears that refused to dry. I stood at the edge of the precipice, not of a cliff but of a rooftop, the wind tearing at the hem of my jacket with a violence...
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