The Wistful Saga
The lamp in the corner of the windowless office hummed with a low, electric drone that seemed to vibrate in the teeth, casting long, erratic shadows against the walls where the plaster had begun to flake in the damp air. Elias Thorne sat hunched over his desk, his fingers stained with the grey dust of the porcelain shard he was holding, the jagged edge catching the artificial light with a dull,...
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