The Wistful Witness
The cart wheels grind against the frost-hardened earth, a rhythmic, mechanical shriek that vibrates up through the soles of your boots and settles deep in your marrow. You are Edward Ashworth, and you are walking. Or rather, you are being walked. The guards on horseback do not strike you; they merely adjust the length of the chain attached to your wrist, a subtle tightening that reminds you of...
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