The Pale Path
The porcelain bowl slipped from Elara Vane’s fingers, the impact a sharp, white crack that split the silence of the kitchen. She did not flinch, nor did she move to gather the shards; she stood with her hands open at her sides, watching the dark medicinal broth spread across the linoleum, pooling in the grooves like spilled ink. The weight of the vessel had been a burden for days, a physical...
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