The Wistful Crossroads
The fever broke with a sound like wet bone snapping, and Elara stood in the center of the muddy track, her shadow stretching long and thin against the twilight like a broken reed. The forest of Oakhaven did not rustle; it held its breath. For three days, she had walked this path, her body a vessel of rot and heat, her mind a fractured mirror reflecting the faces of those who had loved her and...
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