The Wistful Grid
The ink has dried on this page, but the tremor in your hand remains, a ghostly vibration that haunts the parchment even now, long after the storm has passed and the castle walls have settled back into their ancient, stone silence. You are writing this from the highest tower of Ashworth Keep, where the wind does not howl but whispers with a malice that feels personal, a voice that knows the...
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