The Wistful Saga
The rain had stopped. It left the streets of Vane City slick and black, reflecting the gaslights like broken mirrors. I stood on the corner of Elm and 4th. I looked at my hands. They were steady. They were no longer mine. I walked to the door. It was oak. Dark wood. I knocked. Margaret opened it. She wore a white dress. The fabric clung to her. She did not step aside. She did not smile. "Elara...
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