The Wistful Crossroads
The carriage wheels groaned against the cobblestones of the London streets, a rhythmic, wooden lament that seemed to vibrate through the soles of Elara’s shoes and up into the marrow of her bones, a physical reminder of the friction between her fragile, starving existence and the heavy, indifferent machinery of the world. She sat pressed into the corner of the hired vehicle, her body a...
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