The Wistful Skyline
The sky above the Citadel of Aethelgard did not darken; it simply ceased to be blue. It turned the color of a bruise, a swollen, purplish gray that pressed against the stones of the tower where I stood, tightening around me like a fist. I had been here for three days, or perhaps three weeks. Time had lost its rigid structure, becoming fluid and unreliable, like the water in the cistern below...
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