The Faded Road
The air in the cellar tastes of iron and old candle wax, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat before you have even opened your eyes. You are Elias Thorne, forty years old, a surveyor by trade and a debtor by fate, and you have woken to find the single pane of glass on the far wall reflecting not your own face, but the hollowed, despairing visage of a woman who is not there. Clara...
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