The Wistful Mirror
The cathedral of St. Jude’s, a labyrinth of Gothic ambition that clawed at the grey heavens like a dying hand, had stood for three centuries as the unyielding heart of the Kingdom’s power, its stone bones so heavy with the prayers of kings and the silence of the dead that it seemed less like a place of worship and more like a living entity that breathed the dust of ages into the lungs of every...
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