The Faded Frequency
The iron taste of blood coats your tongue, thick and metallic, as the blade of the executioner grinds against the stone floor. You are not the one being killed, not yet. You are the Warden of the Hollow Keep, a man who has spent forty years enforcing the silence of the dead, and your hands are shaking so violently that you cannot hold your ledger. The room is dim, lit only by the flickering...
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