The Wistful Show
"Is it gone?" Mara held the iron lantern. The flame inside did not flicker. It burned with a steady, violet hue that cast no shadows. She stood on the muddy shoulder of the road, the rain slicking her hair to her face. Behind her, the wagon wheels creaked in the mud. "No," said Elias. He did not look at her. He looked at the fog that rolled in from the valley. "It is not gone. It is waiting."...
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