The Distant Promise
The porcelain bowl in Elara’s hands did not shatter with a sound, but with a silence so profound it seemed to swallow the very air of the kitchen, leaving only the ghostly tremor of the shards dancing on the floorboards like the final, desperate heartbeat of a thing that had once been whole. She stood there, her fingers stained with the dried residue of honey and thyme, staring at the fragments...
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