The Faded Portrait
The iron gate groans against the ancient stone, a sound like a bone snapping under the weight of a winter that refuses to end. You stand on the other side, your hands trembling not from the cold, but from the exhaustion of a flight that has lasted three generations. Behind you, the shadow of the Citadel looms, a black wedge driven into the sky, its windows glowing with the cold, blue light of...
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