The Wistful Skyline
The wind did not howl so much as it whispered, a thin, papery sound that scraped against the high, narrow windows of the Citadel, a structure of pale stone that had stood against the northern gales for six centuries. It was a place of silence, of ink-stained fingers, and of the slow, grinding erosion of time, where the architecture itself seemed to sigh under the weight of secrets kept too...
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