The Distant Legend
Elara, the paper reads, is a woman who has let her grief fester into a moral rot, a stain upon the pristine face of Oakhaven that must be scrubbed away before the harvest moon rises high enough to expose the rest of us to the same contagion. You sit in the attic room that smells of lavender water and old wool, the light from the single window slanting across the floorboards in a pale, dusty...
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