The Pale Shadows
The dream began, as it always did, in the silence of the high gallery. Elara stood before the tapestry, her fingers hovering inches from the wool and silk, feeling the static charge of the ancient threads even though she was not touching them. The room was cold, a vaulted space of stone and shadow where the air tasted of dust and dried lavender. It was the Hall of Whispers, a place in the...
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