The Faded Alibi
The dream begins with the sound of a lock turning, a mechanical click that echoes like a gunshot in the silent chamber, and you are standing in the Great Hall of the Citadel, your boots sinking slightly into the frost that has crept beneath the tapestries, the air so cold it bites at the exposed skin of your neck, a sensation that is both painful and clarifying, as if the cold is scrubbing away...
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