The Faded Photograph
The iron taste of the morning air clings to your teeth as you step onto the platform at Harrowgate, the steam from the engine curling around your legs like a living thing. You are thirty years old, Elias Thorne, a clerk of modest standing, and you are leaving. Behind you, the house where you built a life with Clara stands silent, its windows dark against the grey dawn. You do not look back. You...
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