The Golden Compass
The leather of the gauntlet has long since lost its original tan, baking under the relentless, pale sun of the citadel’s outer wall into a brittle, parchment-like texture that whispers against the bone beneath it as you flex your fingers, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a graveyard. You are the Warden of the Lower Gate, a title that sounds far more majestic than the reality of your...
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