The Distant Metropolis
The bell tower of Saint Jude’s did not ring at midnight, but the silence that followed was heavier than the bronze itself. In the high alcove, where the dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight that pierced the stained glass, sat Elara. She was not a woman in the way the townsfolk of Oakhaven understood the term, for her skin possessed the pale, translucent quality of old parchment, and...
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