The Golden Visit
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended curtain of grey silk that smelled of wet iron and old paper. Elara stood at the edge of the cliff, her small hands gripping the railing of the iron gate, her knuckles white against the rusted bars. The village of Oakhaven lay below, a tangle of thatched roofs and chimney smoke, but it was not the village she saw. It was a cage, a...
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