The Faded Dust
The chisel in your hand feels heavier than it did yesterday, and the stone beneath it resists with a dull, grinding friction that speaks of exhaustion rather than geology. You are Elias, a stonemason of forty years, and your hands are stained with the white dust of Oakhaven’s limestone, a grime that has settled into the whorls of your fingerprints until you can no longer distinguish where the...
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