The Distant Metropolis
The cart rattled over the cobblestones, a sound like the grinding of old teeth, and Elara tightened her grip on the wheel, her knuckles white against the leather. The fog was thick, a living thing that pressed against the windows of the carriage, blurring the world into a watercolor of grays and muted blues. She was traveling to the city, or what remained of it, for the winter solstice, a...
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