The Golden Farce
The rain in Oakhaven does not fall so much as it seeps, a persistent, gray moisture that settles into the joints and the marrow, a physical weight that mirrors the exhaustion of your own failing body as you press your palm against the cold, oak-paneled door of the apothecary. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old, a man who has spent his life wandering the edges of respectable society, an...
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