The Wistful Mountain
The frost shattered the glass. It did not break. It simply ceased to be clear. You are standing in the hallway of the manor house. The air is thick with the scent of pine needles and old dust. Your sister, Elara, is gone. She left before dawn. You did not see her go. You were sleeping. Or perhaps you were dreaming. The house is silent now. A heavy silence. The kind that presses against the...
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