The Distant Wound
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the capital, a sound like the grinding of ancient teeth in a dry throat, carrying Elara through the fog that clung to the streets with the tenacity of a lover who has forgotten how to let go. She sat upright, her hands resting on her lap, fingers intertwined so tightly that the knuckles turned the color of old bone, holding within her mind the...
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