The Faded Chronicle
The mud in the lanes of Oakhaven was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing that clung to the soles of Thomas’s boots with a tenacity that mirrored the grip of his indenture, pulling at his heels as if the earth itself were determined to keep him rooted in the service of Master Aldous, a man whose cruelty was as dry and brittle as the parchment he made Thomas scrape with a knife....
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