The Wistful Crossroads
The rain in Manchester did not fall so much as it settled, a persistent, grey dust that coated the windowpanes of the small, rented flat on Fallowfield Road with a fine film of damp, and inside that flat, Elara Vance sat on the floor with her back against the radiator, holding the brass astrolabe in her lap, its cold metal biting into her palms with a sharp, physical reminder of the void it had...
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