The Wistful Crossroads
The candlelight in the study flickered with a damp, sickly orange hue, casting long, trembling shadows against the wallpaper that had peeled away decades ago to reveal the raw plaster beneath. Elara sat before the vanity table, her fingers hovering over the parchment of the deed of transfer, her eyes fixed not on the ink but on the glass of the mirror that stood behind her, a surface that had...
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