The Wistful Skyline
Elara woke with the taste of iron and old ash on her tongue, the sensation so profound it seemed to bypass her throat and settle directly into the marrow of her bones. She was not in her bed in the damp, stone cellar where she had slept for the last three weeks, but lying in a field of tall, white grass that swayed in a wind she could not feel. The sky above was not the grey, bruised ceiling of...
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