The Golden Song
The sky cracked open before the sun had risen. It did not break like glass. It tore like wet silk. A sound like a thousand iron nails being driven into a single board echoed through the valley. The air turned thick. It tasted of copper and burnt sugar. Elara stood on the hill. She held her shawl. It was blue. It had once been the blue of a winter lake. Now it was the grey of old ash. The...
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