The Golden Farce
The rain in Oakhaven does not fall so much as it is pressed into the earth by a sky that has forgotten how to lift, a grey, heavy weight that soaks through the wool of your constable’s coat and settles into the joints of your knees, a cold that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the slow, inevitable rot that has taken up residence in your marrow. You are Elias Thorne,...
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