The Pale Fracture
The frost on the windowpane had formed a web of white cracks, a fragile lattice that held the darkness at bay, and within that fragile geometry, Elara sat with her left hand resting on the small, cold oak table, the bone-thin ring of light from the lantern catching the sharp, jagged edge of the fracture that ran through her knuckle, a pale scar that pulsed with a rhythm not quite her own. She...
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