The Golden Scar
You have the look of a man who has been staring into a mirror for so long that his own reflection has begun to wear a face that is not quite his own, a face that smiles with a mouth you have forgotten how to open, a face that watches you with the cold, detached curiosity of a specimen pinned beneath glass in a museum of extinct things. This is the thing about the Wardens of the High House, the...
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