The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-17 18:32:06 -

The iron bit tasted of blood and old rust. My hands, thick with the grime of the trench and the sweat of a man who has forgotten how to sleep, gripped the reins of a horse that was less a creature than a bundle of trembling nerves. We were in the courtyard of the old estate, the air thick with the scent of damp moss and decay, a place that had not seen a living soul in decades. But the gates...

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