The Wistful Mountain
The iron bit into your wrists before the cold even settled into your bones. You are Elias, thirty-two, and you are on your knees in the dirt of the cellar, the stone floor damp and slick with the rot of old wine. Above you, the heavy oak door is barred. You want to prove your loyalty. You want to catch the man who stole your sister’s medicine, the tincture that kept the fever from taking her...
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