The Wistful Voyage
The iron of the gate shudders under the weight of your body, a grinding shriek that tears through the silent, frost-bitten air of the palace courtyard. You are not a man, though you wear the shape of one, and you are not a beast, though your hunger is older than the stone beneath your feet. You are the anomaly, the statistical error in the ledger of the realm, a creature of mist and marrow who...
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