The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-18 16:41:35 -

The cold bit through my armor. It was a sharp, metallic taste. Iron and old blood. I stood on the ridge. The wind screamed. It tore at my cloak. My hands shook. Not from fear. From the frost. My name is Silas. I was a soldier. Then I was a beast. The distinction matters. Or it used to. Now, the line is blurred. The fog eats it. Eleanor was gone. Three days. She had walked into the mist. She...

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