The Faded Apartment
The air in the threshold of the crumbling tower tasted of iron and impending judgment, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elara’s throat as she stood clutching the heavy, velvet-lined cloak, its fabric humming with a low, dissonant frequency that vibrated against her ribs like a second, arrhythmic heartbeat. She was forty years old, a spirit-weaver of modest renown in the mist-choked city...
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