The Distant Summer
The dream was made of glass. It shattered. Elara woke. The ceiling was plaster. Cracked. A vein of grey ran from the corner to the center. Like a river. Like a wound. She sat up. The room was cold. The light was thin. Pale. It came from the window. It touched her face. She did not move. The house breathed. It was the old mill. Her father’s mill. His father’s before that. The walls were thick....
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