The Wistful Skyline
The cold had settled into the marrow of Elara’s bones long before the first grey light of dawn touched the peaks of the Verian Mountains, a chill that no wool cloak or fire could fully banish, for it was the specific, aching temperature of a promise broken by time itself. She walked with a stiffness in her left leg, a joint that had swollen and hardened years ago, a physical map of the night...
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