The Pale Banner
The dream began with the smell of wet wool and iron. It was a scent so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing against Maud’s chest, forcing the breath out in ragged, shallow gasps. She stood in the long gallery of the High House, a place of shadows and stone where the air always tasted of cold ash. Before her, hanging from a hook of blackened iron, was the cloak. It was not merely a...
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