The Distant Blade
The frost on the windowpane has formed a lattice of ice so fine it resembles the veins of a leaf, or perhaps the cracks in a shield long since broken. You press your thumb against the cold glass, feeling the sharp bite of the winter air that has seeped through the stone walls of the keep. It is a stillness that hums, a low vibration in the marrow of the castle, where the torches burn with a...
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