The Distant Ghost
Elara. The name was not spoken with warmth but with the sharp, clipped finality of a door slamming shut. I stood in the shadow of the Guild Hall’s oak beams, the weight of the parchment bundle pressing against my chest, a solid block of grief and legal claim that felt heavier than stone. The air inside was thick with the smell of damp wool and the metallic tang of the ink I carried in my...
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