The Pale Bridge
The stone of the Pale Bridge did not merely sit upon the river; it breathed, a slow, tectonic exhalation that rattled the loose flagstones and sent a fine, chalky dust drifting into the air like the breath of a sleeping giant. Elara stood on the scaffold, her hands pressed flat against the cold, grey face of the arch, feeling the subtle, rhythmic pulse that thrummed beneath the surface, a...
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