The Wistful Show
The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it sat, heavy and damp, pressing the rooftops into the cobblestones until the town felt like a bruise under a thumb. Silas Ashworth, twelve years old and sharp as a broken tooth, pulled the fraying red scarf tighter around his neck. The fabric was stiff, caked with a grayish rot that smelled of wet wool and old blood. It was the mark of his family’s shame,...
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