The Wistful Skyline
The bread was hard. That was the first thing Elias noticed, though he did not say so. He stood in the kitchen, his fingers wrapped around the crusty loaf, feeling the dryness of the grain against his skin. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes of the old manor, a sound like bones clicking in the dark. The house had been theirs for three generations, but lately it felt less like a home and...
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