The Wistful Letter
The fog rolled off the black water of the harbor, thick and grey, swallowing the masts of the fishing boats until they were nothing but faint, skeletal shadows against the sky. Elara stood on the pier, her boots sinking slightly into the wet timber, watching the silhouette of the man who had once been her brother dissolve into the mist. He did not look back. He never looked back. The air...
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