The Wistful Crossroads
Thorne! The shout cracked through the humid air of the mill floor, sharp as a snapped thread, and Elias blinked, his vision still clouded by the feverish haze of the night before, where he had held a translucent moth in his fist, watching its wings beat against his skin with a frantic, silent violence. He straightened his spine, the movement stiff and deliberate, and wiped a smear of coal dust...
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