The Wistful Asylum
The rain had not stopped for six days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into a mirror of sorrow, and it was within this unbroken weeping that Elara Vane had first noticed the way the glass fractured. She stood in the high window of the library, her fingers pressed against the cold pane, watching the world dissolve into a smear of wet slate and dying...
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