The Wistful Voyage
The cellar smelled of damp stone and the sharp, medicinal tang of dried lavender. Elara wiped her hands on a rag, the motion habitual, and looked at the jar of tincture on the table. It was almost full. The liquid inside was a deep, bruised purple, swirling slowly as if alive. "You're staring at it," said Kael. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He was the court physician’s...
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