The Distant Legend
The silver brooch sat in Elara’s palm, cold and heavy, its surface marred by a dark, spreading stain that looked suspiciously like a handprint. She turned it over, her thumb tracing the tarnish, feeling the familiar, rough texture of the metal against her skin, a texture she had known for twenty years since her mother died. Outside, the fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray, erasing the...
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