The Pale Bridge
The needle slips through the fabric, and you feel the tear widen. You are Elias, thirty-two, a weaver in the mist-choked valley of Oren, desperate to repair the fraying hem of your father’s spectral coat to secure your debt-free lease. The candle gutters, throwing long, trembling shadows against the stone walls, but the cloth does not care for your fatigue. It is woven from trapped memories, a...
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