The Wistful Witness
The rain had not stopped for three days, a ceaseless, gray curtain that turned the courtyard of the manor into a muddy, sucking abyss where the mud clung to my boots with a tenacity that felt less like earth and more like a living thing trying to drag me down into the dark. I stood beneath the eaves of the east wing, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword, not out of readiness for a fight, but...
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