The Faded Guest
The old man, whose name was Silas Thorne, did not look like a prisoner, though the walls of the city of Aethelgard were made of a stone so ancient and so heavy with the memory of centuries that it seemed to breathe a low, constant thrum of confinement against the skin, a vibration that one felt not in the ears but in the marrow, a dull and persistent ache that mirrored the slow erosion of the...
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