The Pale Bridge
The iron gate groaned as you pushed it open. The sound was a low, resonant moan that vibrated in your chest cavity. You did not look back. You could not afford to. The mist clung to the cobblestones of the courtyard, thick and cold, smelling of wet stone and old blood. You adjusted the strap of your armor. The leather bit into your shoulder. It was a familiar pain. Pain was a language you...
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