The Wistful Skyline
The heavy wool of the cloak had been woven by hand in the dim, dust-moted workshops of the lower city, a fabric so dense and dark that it seemed to absorb the light of the oil lamps rather than reflect it, a tangible weight that settled upon Elara’s shoulders not merely as a garment but as a physical manifestation of the guilt and silence that had calcified within her chest over the long,...
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