The Pale Shadows
Elias. The name hung in the damp air of the workshop, heavy as a wet log. Thomas, the apprentice, stood by the door, his hands clasped so tightly the knuckles had gone white. He did not look at the wood shavings covering the floor, nor at the half-finished commission on the bench. He looked at Elias, who sat on the workbench, shivering in a thick wool sweater despite the morning chill. The debt...
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