The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-19 04:34:26 -

The Pale Bridge

The rain in the village of Oakhaven did not fall; it hovered. It was a thick, gray mist that clung to the cobblestones and the thatched roofs, smelling of wet wool and old iron. Elara sat by the window of her small, cramped shop, her hands resting on a piece of pale, unfinished oak. Her fingers were stained with the dust of a hundred other lives, a residue of the memories she had absorbed from...

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