The Wistful Silence
The list was pinned to the doorframe with a rusted nail, the ink faded to a pale grey. It read: *Items to be mended before the crossing. One silver brooch. One winter coat. One silence.* Elara stared at the paper, her fingers tracing the indented letters until the skin of her thumb turned white. The candle on the table flickered, casting long, trembling shadows across the worn oak floor of the...
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