The Wistful Saga
The dream began with the sound of glass shattering, not the clean, sharp ping of a window breaking, but the dull, wet thud of a heavy object collapsing onto the floor. Eleanor opened her eyes in the dark of the small apartment in Leeds, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The silence that followed was heavier than the noise had been. She lay still, listening to the rain...
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