The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 02:51:17 -

The dream was always the same. I stood in the mud of the courtyard, my hands slick with the cold, wet earth, and I looked up at the manor house. It loomed not as a structure of stone and timber, but as a living thing, breathing with a low, rhythmic thrum that I felt in my teeth. I was the new guard, fresh from the levy, my uniform still smelling of the lanolin and sweat of the stable. I was...

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