The Wistful Crossroads
The gate was locked. It had always been locked. Elara stood before the iron bars. They were cold. Her fingers bled on the metal. The town of Oakhaven slept. It always slept. The fog rolled in from the river. It swallowed the streetlights. It swallowed the windows. It swallowed her. She held the key. It was heavy. It was warm. It was her heart. She had to let it go. The church tower loomed...
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