The Wistful Saga
You wake with the taste of iron on your tongue, a metallic tang that clings to the back of your throat like a secret you cannot keep. The dream is already fading, dissolving into the grey morning light that filters through the heavy velvet curtains of the antechamber, but the feeling remains. It is the feeling of a door closing, not with a bang, but with the soft, final click of a lock...
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