The Wistful Skyline
The wind that scoured the peat bogs of the Armenian highlands did not care for the dignity of the living or the dead, it merely tore at the damp wool of coats and shredded the washing lines with a physical, indifferent hunger. Anca Ivanovic, twelve years old and thin as a birch sapling, walked down the spiral stone steps of the temple garden, her hands gripping the rough-hewn balustrade as she...
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