The Faded Frontier
The wool bleeds. You press the needle into the lapel of the charcoal coat, and instead of piercing the fiber, the fabric resists, a thick, viscous ink oozing from the weave to stain your thumb, a dark and wet testament to the resistance of the material. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a master tailor in the rain-slicked, gothic city of Oakhaven, where the fog itself weeps saltwater and the...
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