The Wistful Witness
The rain fell upon the village of Oakhaven not as water, but as a fine, grey dust that settled into the creases of the earth and the hollows of the people’s hearts, a persistent veil that obscured the horizon and blurred the line between what was seen and what was merely felt. Elara Vance stood at the window of the old apothecary, her fingers tracing the condensation that had gathered on the...
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