The Faded Photograph
The autumn of 1893 smelled of rotting leaves and iron, a metallic tang that Elias Vane carried in his teeth as he navigated the mud-choked track toward Oakhaven, his twelve-year-old frame hunched against the biting wind that seemed to hunt him with a personal, malicious intent. He was running, not for the sake of speed, but to outrun the echo of Clara’s cough, a wet, rattling sound that had...
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