The Wistful Show
The frost bit into your knuckles. You did not pull back. You stood in the courtyard of the manor, the iron gate rattling against the stone behind you. Your breath hung in the air, a white ghost that dissolved before it could reach the window of the great hall. Inside, the fire burned low. You knew this. You always knew when the embers died down. The steward, a thick-necked man named Aldous,...
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