The Distant Whispers
The cart wheels groaned against the wet cobblestones of the narrow lane, a sound that seemed to scrape directly against the nerves of Elias Thorne, who sat hunched over his wares, his hands trembling not from the cold that seeped through his woolen coat but from the sheer, suffocating weight of the silence that had settled over the market square. He had traveled three days from the distant...
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