The Pale Fracture
The frost bit at the windowpane. It was a thin, white lattice, intricate as lace, mapping the cold across the glass. Elara watched it form. She did not speak. She rarely spoke in the early hours. The silence in the tower room was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against her eardrums. Outside, the village of Oakhaven lay dormant under a blanket of snow. No smoke rose from the chimneys. No...
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