The salt-kissed air of Marrow’s End clung to Elara’s skin as she trudged down the cobbled path, her boots crunching gravel like bones. The town’s fog-veiled silhouette stretched ahead, its crooked houses hunched like old women murmuring secrets. She hadn’t…
## The Echo Weaver The rain tasted like rust. Elara spat, pushing a damp strand of auburn hair from her face. The dig site at the Whispering Peaks felt colder than usual, leaching warmth straight from her bones. Weeks she’s…
The rain tasted of wet earth and woodsmoke. It pressed down on the moss, a thick, emerald blanket clinging to the roots of the ancient Japanese maples. Each drop amplified the scent – a deep, resinous musk overlaid with something…
The rain tasted like salt and regret. I watched it sheet down the corrugated iron roof of the Fisherman’s Rest, a pub clinging to the edge of Valoria, a village that seemed determined to dissolve back into the bruised grey…
The rain tasted like salt and regret. I watched it sheet down the corrugated iron roof of the Fisherman’s Rest, a pub clinging to the edge of Valoria, a village that seemed determined to dissolve back into the bruised grey…