The Faded Bouquet
The dream is not a dream, but a waking state that has forgotten its own name, and in it you are the keeper of the Iron Gate, a structure of black metal and rusted iron that rises from the cobblestones of a city that does not exist on any map yet feels as heavy and real as the lead in your own bones. You wear the uniform of the Watch, a garment of deep indigo wool that has been stitched so...
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