The Distant Cartograph
The bell of the municipal clock tower struck the hour, its bronze voice a low, mournful thrum that seemed to vibrate not in the air but in the marrow of the stones, a resonance that Elara had felt since the day she was born into the grey, soot-stained city of Oakhaven, where the fog did not merely settle upon the cobblestones but seeped into the very fabric of the buildings, turning the...
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