The Faded Chronicle
The mud sucked at Elias Thorne’s boots with a wet, tearing sound, pulling him down into the trench floor as the shrapnel screamed overhead. He wanted only to reach the wire, to see Clara’s face, to feel the warmth of her skin against his shivering hands before the night ended. But the figure standing in the no-man’s-land was not a man; it was a rotting uniform, a spectral silhouette that...
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