The Wistful Asylum
The ledger shows I spent fourteen hours stitching the hem of my tunic before I packed the bag. I counted every coin, seven silver marks and a few coppers, and placed them in the left pocket where my hand would find them if I panicked. Elara was asleep, or perhaps just too weak to move, her fingers resting on the quilt like dry twigs. I watched the blue line pulse beneath the skin of her wrist,...
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