The Wistful Witness

добавлена новая статья Literature

2026-08-17 22:32:10 -

The banquet hall of the Iron Citadel did not smell of meat or wine, but of ozone and old blood, a scent that clung to the stone walls like a persistent ghost. Edward Ashworth sat at the high table, his posture rigid, his hands resting flat on the cold oak surface. He was a man carved from the same unyielding stone as the fortress, his face a map of lines etched by years of silence and duty....

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