The Wistful Skyline
The mist clings to the stone balustrades of the High Keep, a persistent gray veil that refuses to lift even as the sun attempts to burn it away. You stand at the edge of the battlements, your fingers cold against the rough-hewn granite, watching the valley below where the river winds like a silver ribbon through the dark pines. It is a beautiful day, or so the scribes say, but to you, it feels...
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