The Faded Attic
The sword is heavy. It is heavier than steel should be. You feel it in the base of your skull, a dull, throbbing weight that matches the heartbeat of the building. You are not fighting a man. You are fighting the room. The walls breathe. The floorboards creak like the joints of a giant waking from a long, cold sleep. You are the Warden. This is a title, not a name. Names are for those who...
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