The rain slicked the cobblestones of the narrow alley, reflecting the dim light of the flickering lanterns that hung precariously from the overhanging buildings. The air was thick with the smell of damp stone, rotting garbage, and the ever-present stench of the nearby tannery. Elara, a hedge wizard known more for her herbal remedies and minor enchantments than any grand displays of magic, hurried through the alley, her worn cloak pulled tight around her.

  She’d just finished a late-night consultation with a distraught mother whose child was suffering from a persistent cough. The payment had been meager, a few copper coins and a handful of wilted vegetables, but Elara had never been one to turn away those in need. Now, she was eager to return to her small, cluttered workshop, to the warmth of her hearth and the comforting scent of drying herbs.

  A figure emerged from the shadows ahead, blocking her path. He was a man of ????? height, his face obscured by the deep cowl of his cloak. Elara recognized him instantly. He was a man she’d met earlier that day, a nervous, fidgety fellow who had requested a love potion. She’d brewed him a simple concoction of rose petals and honey, assuring him of its… limited efficacy.

  “Is there something else I can help you with?” Elara asked, her voice tinged with weariness.

  The man didn’t respond. He simply stood there, his head bowed, his hands hidden within the folds of his cloak. The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the rain.

  Elara felt a prickle of unease. There was something unsettling about the man’s demeanor, something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She took a step back, her hand instinctively going to the small pouch at her belt, where she kept a few protective charms.

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  Suddenly, the man’s hand flashed out from beneath his cloak. In his hand, he held a long, thin knife, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. Before Elara could react, he lunged forward, the knife plunging deep into her abdomen.

  A sharp, searing pain shot through Elara’s body. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat. She looked down at the knife protruding from her stomach, the dark stain of blood spreading quickly across her cloak.

  The man didn’t say a word. He simply twisted the knife, a cruel, deliberate motion that sent another wave of agony through Elara. She stumbled back, her vision blurring, her legs giving way beneath her. She fell heavily against the damp stone wall, the rough surface scraping against her back.

  The man withdrew the knife, wiping the blood on Elara’s cloak. He then quickly rifled through her pockets, taking the few coins she had earned that night. He didn’t even glance at her as he turned and disappeared back into the shadows, melting into the maze of alleys.

  Elara slumped against the wall, her lifeblood seeping onto the cobblestones. She tried to cry out for help, but only a weak, gurgling sound escaped her lips. The rain continued to fall, washing away the blood, washing away her life.

  She closed her eyes, her breath growing shallower and shallower. The damp chill of the alley seeped into her bones, and the flickering lantern light danced across her lifeless face. In the narrow, forgotten alley, Elara, the hedge wizard who sought only to help others, breathed her last, a victim of a senseless and brutal act of violence. The only witness was the rain, which continued to fall, washing the city clean, indifferent to the small, tragic death that had just taken place.