The Wistful Show
You are the keeper of the gate, and the gate is a throat of iron and stone, and the iron is singing a low, resonant note that you feel in your teeth, in the marrow of your jaw, as the first of the black cloaks tears through the curtain of night. The air inside the vault is thick with the scent of ozone and old blood, a metallic tang that coats the back of your tongue, and you know, with the...
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