The Distant Ghost
The wind did not howl; it shrieked with the mechanical precision of a gear slipping from its housing, tearing through the eaves of the old textile mill where Elara Vane stood, her hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, terrifying velocity of the air currents she was holding at bay. She was a woman composed of thin edges and sharp angles, her face a map of deep-set lines that seemed...
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