The Wistful Atlas
The silence in the mill town of Oakhaven did not settle so much as it accumulated, layer upon layer of damp wool and extinguished coal dust, until the very air felt heavy enough to press against the eardrums and muffle the frantic, bird-like beating of a heart that had no business being so loud in such a still place. Elara stood at the edge of the frozen creek, her fingers white-knuckled around...
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