The Wistful Saga
Elias Thorne scraped the tallow from the copper pot, the heavy white mass resisting the spatula with a dull, wet sound. The air in the workshop was thick, hanging heavy with the scent of rendered fat and the faint, sweet rot that clung to the back of his throat. He moved with the mechanical precision of a man who had spent twenty years measuring out small comforts for other men’s homes. His...
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