The Wistful Saga
The first thing you notice is the weight of the ledger. It is a heavy thing, bound in cracked leather, smelling of iron filings and stale tobacco. You carry it from the train station to the Blackwood Ironworks, your shoulders aching under the damp wool of your coat. It is 1912, and the town of Oakhaven sits low in the valley, choked by smoke and the gray sludge of industrial progress. You are...
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