The Faded Sutra
The mist did not rise so much as it exhaled, a slow, grey breath that swallowed the cobblestones of the village square and the spires of the church that stood at its center, a monolith of pale stone that seemed to grow directly out of the earth rather than being built upon it. Elara Vance stood at the edge of the fog, her hand resting on the rough bark of the ancient oak that marked the...
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