The Wistful Crossroads
The carriage wheels bit into the frozen mud of the road leading to the Citadel, a rhythmic, grinding sound that seemed to come from the earth itself, vibrating up through the wooden floorboards and into the bones of Elara Vance. She sat in the back, her hands folded tightly in her lap, watching the snow fall in heavy, silent curtains that blurred the world into a monochrome of grey and white....
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