The Faded Chronicle
The iron gates of the Citadel of Saint Jude groaned in the wind, a sound like the dragging of heavy chains across stone, as the warden raised his lantern. The light did not illuminate so much as it cut a swath through the perpetual twilight that hung over the valley, a bruised purple sky that had not seen the sun in three days. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the threshold, his hands bound in cuffs of...
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