The Pale Bridge
The dream is not of the castle, nor of the throne, but of the weight of the wool on your shoulders, a heavy, damp grey cloak that you have worn since you were a boy, so long woven into the fibers of your skin that you have forgotten it was ever separate from you, a garment of duty and silence that has protected you from the wind and the cold and the pitying eyes of the courtiers who see in your...
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