The Wistful Skyline
The iron gate shudders. You feel the vibration in your teeth before you see the shape of the thing crashing against the oak doors. It is not a person. It is a siege engine, a beast of wood and stone, driven by the hands of men who have forgotten the taste of bread and the weight of sleep. You are inside. The walls are thick, older than your grandfather’s grandfather, built by hands that knew...
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