The Distant Journey
The rain in the valley of Ashworth did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the line between the earth and the sky, turning the world into a damp, breathing thing of mist and rot. Elara stood at the threshold of the old manor, her small hands gripping the rotting wood of the doorframe, watching the boundary of the estate dissolve into the encroaching dark. She was...
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