The Distant Whispers
The train groaned against the rusted tracks, a long, mournful exhalation that vibrated through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots as he stepped onto the platform at Hollow Creek, a town that seemed to have been forgotten by the mapmakers and left to rot in the damp, gray silence of the late Victorian era. The air here was thick, not just with the humidity that clung to the skin like a second,...
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