The Wistful Saga
The fever broke not with a sweat but with a silence so profound it felt like the air itself had been sucked out of the valley, leaving behind a hollow, ringing void where the wind used to scream through the pines. Elara sat in the mud, her fingers still stained with the charcoal dust of the map she had spent three days drawing by the flickering light of a tallow candle that smelled of rendered...
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