The Wistful Show
The fog does not rise. It seeps, a grey liquid pooling in the hollows of the highland border, erasing the line between the stone wall and the dark earth. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a warden of the Crown, and your jaw aches with a dull, rhythmic throb that syncs with the beating of your heart. You want the final payment for Margaret’s medical debt before the winter freeze locks the pass....
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