Echoes in the Aether

The old woman, Elara, sat on the weathered porch swing. Her wrinkled hands, gnarled like ancient tree roots, clutched a chipped ceramic mug. Steam curled from the chamomile tea, carrying the scent of sun-baked earth and distant rain. The air was thick with the buzz of cicadas, a sound that always transported her back to her childhood. Back to a time before the Silence.

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