The Faded Alibi
The fog in London in the winter of 1893 did not merely obscure the streets; it seemed to seep into the walls of the clinic, a damp, grey substance that settled into the pores of the skin and the joints of the bones. You, Elias Thorne, sat in the high-backed chair behind the desk, your fingers wrapped around a jagged shard of obsidian that felt less like stone and more like a piece of your own...
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