The Wistful Saga
The fog in Harrowgate tastes of rust and wet wool. You know this. You have known it for three years, since the day you first stepped off the train, your satchel heavy with papers that no longer mattered. You are not a man of action. You are a man of dust. You are Elias Thorne, or so the name on your badge claims, though the name feels like a coat that does not fit. It is too tight in the...
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