The Wistful Mirror
The ironworks of the Ashworth Combine did not merely occupy the valley; it consumed it, a sprawling beast of riveted steel and churning gears that breathed out a perpetual haze of soot and sulfur, coating the faces of its workers in a fine, unyielding dust that seemed to settle into the very pores of their skin and the creases of their eyes. It was a place where the sun was merely a rumor,...
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