The Pale Bridge
The chisel bit into the limestone, and Elias Thorne felt the vibration travel up through his wrist, a low, sickly hum that seemed to originate from inside his own bone rather than the stone. He pulled the tool back, wiping the grey dust from his brow with a forearm that was slick with sweat despite the chill in the air, and stared at the mark he had just etched into the side of the Pale Bridge....
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