The Faded Attic
The road to Vane’s estate was a ribbon of mud and frost, cutting through the skeletal woods of Oakhaven, and you walked it with the heavy, deliberate pace of a man whose body was a ledger of unpaid debts, your leather satchel banging against your hip with a rhythm that matched the throb in your temples. You were Elias, a bone-setter of modest renown and zero coin, and the winter wind bit at...
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