The Gargoyle Princess by SJ Cramer Week Eight

Afra had become accustomed to the silence of the mornings. The sun’s light barely reached through the century-old trees that stood like silent sentries overlooking the mist-filled forest. At times the mist thinned, revealing moss-covered headstones and markers. The centuries had long erased the names, leaving the forgotten laying in rotting wooden boxes. Sometimes the...

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