The Wistful Saga
The thread counter clicked: one, two, three. Arthur Vane watched the red silk loop tighten on the loom, a sound like a bone cracking in a quiet room. He had counted the hours since he arrived at Harrowgate Mill, twelve days of silence and the rhythmic thud of the steam engine, which had stopped three weeks ago but still seemed to breathe in the walls. Elias was dead, buried in the churchyard...
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