The Wistful Show
The ring is cold. Elias Thorne held the silver band up to the grey light filtering through the fog. It was a simple thing, a plain circle of metal, but to him, it was the only thing that made him solid. In the city of Oren, the fog did not just obscure; it consumed. It ate the edges of men who had no anchor. Elias had been a warden of the dead for fifteen years, a job that paid three shillings...
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