The Faded Frontier
The counter held three distinct weights, each calibrated to the grain of the day’s labor: a brass scale for the dried valerian root, a lead counterweight for the heavy tinctures, and a small, silvered cup for the rarest extracts, the kind that cost more than a week’s rent in the lower wards. Elara moved her hands with the mechanical precision of a woman who had spent four years turning grief...
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