The Pale Shadows
The nightmare was always the same, a suffocating immersion in a sea of raw, white cotton that pressed against Elias Thorne’s lungs until he could not distinguish between the fabric and his own flesh. He woke with a gasp, his hands shaking so violently that the shuttle slipped from his grasp and clattered against the iron frame of the loom, a sound that seemed to echo through the humid,...
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