The Pale Shadows
It was the wind that told Elias Thorne the lie, a gust that swept down the cobbled lane of the Old Quarter and lifted the hem of his coat, yet the shape standing three paces behind him did not move, did not sway, but remained fixed in the slant of the rain, a silhouette of pale, wet nothingness that mimicked his own exhausted posture with a fidelity that made his stomach turn. Elias stopped,...
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