The Wistful Saga
The frost came down on the village of Oakhaven like a shroud, turning the cobblestones into sheets of black glass that cracked under the hooves of the mule cart. You sat in the back, your hands wrapped around a bundle of silk so fine it felt like water, your breath misting in the cold air. The driver, a man named Silas who had served your father before him, did not look back. He never did. He...
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