Beneath the Weeping Moon

't sleep t

thread from a worn cloak. Every so often, the flower would pulse faintly-as though breathing, or listening. She'd whispe

ower never

t clung to the mountainside in tendrils, winding around broken arches and whispering

ave to go t

e fractured magic bled into the world like spilled ink. No map led there, only memory and madness. But if s

ower had p

ones, a broken locket, and the last letter he had ev

ent, the quieter

ere watching, waiting. Fog wound around the trees like silk, and Elira couldn't shake the feeling that something was walking just be

he hea

ittle as old paper-threadi

ira

om behind the trees to her right, floating just ab

ira

the hem of her cloak for protection. The mist parted slowly, reveali

adow, half-light-just as he had

ae

her, sadness pouring off him in waves she c

ist swall

like

catching in her throat. But there was n

ld earth. Was it a memory? A vision? Or something

u," she whispered. "Even if I have to walk through fire.

ly, and for a moment... she swor

l wa