The Distant Promise
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the manor house and turned the gravel path into a slurry of mud and decay. Elara sat in the high-backed chair by the window, her fingers white-knuckled around the arms, watching the water race down the glass in distorted, weeping streaks. The air in the library was thick with the scent of old paper and...
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