The Golden Crossing
The river did not reflect the sky. It held it, deep and dark, like a secret kept too long in the throat. Maren sat on the bank, her legs dangling over the edge of the slick mud, watching the water lap at her boots. She was not human, or if she was, she had been stripped of the parts that made her so. To the people of the village up the hill, she was the Hollow Woman, a thing of smoke and bone...
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