The Wistful Saga
The mortar bag weighed twenty pounds, and Elias had counted them: four hundred and twelve bags since October, each one a brick of labor stacked against the coming winter. He stood before the facade of the Thorne house, his hands black with dust, staring at the empty office door that should have held his brother Julian. The smell of stale tobacco hung in the air, thick and cloying, a ghost of...
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