The Wistful Letter
The fog that rolled off the Blackwater estuary did not merely obscure the town of Harrowgate; it consumed it, a viscous, industrial shroud that tasted of coal dust and rotting kelp, settling into the crevices of the Victorian brickwork like a parasite seeking the warm blood of the city’s infrastructure. Elias Thorne stood at the head of his desk in the University’s antiquated biology...
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