The Wistful Show
The light was thin and gray, cutting across the floorboards of the tavern like a blade that had lost its edge. "You will not touch the water," Thomas said, his voice low and trembling, the way a man speaks to a dog he knows will bite. "It whispers the names of the dead, Elias. You hear them? The ones who drowned before the flood." I looked at the laborer, his hands clasped tight over his knees,...
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