The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall so much as it suspended itself in the heavy, violet twilight that hung over the Citadel of Aethelgard, a dampness that seemed to seep into the very marrow of the stone and the bones of those who dwelt within its high, cold halls, where the air tasted of old dust, extinguished candles, and the metallic tang of a violence that had long since ceased to be external but had...
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