The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-23 12:29:10 -

The dream was always the same. Ink. Thick, cold, and black as the void between stars. Elara woke gasping, her sheets soaked in sweat, the taste of copper on her tongue. The room in the Blackwater Estate was damp, the walls weeping condensation that smelled of wet stone and old iron. She was twenty-four, her hands rough from scrubbing floors, her eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights. She had...

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