The Distant Affair
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the village into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the soot-blackened chimneys of the textile mills. Elara stood by the window of her small, damp cottage, watching the water bead and slide down the glass, her fingers tracing the condensation as if reading a secret script. Inside, the air smelled of...
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