The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-19 09:46:31 -

The rain tasted of iron. It fell in thick, cold sheets against the high windows of the Keep, blurring the world outside into a smear of grey mud and black pine. I stood by the hearth. The fire was low. It did not warm. I am a man who has served the Crown for thirty years. I have held the line at the borders. I have kept the peace in the valleys. My name is Arthur. I am the Warden of the North....

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