The Wistful Petal
The leather of the gauntlets had long since lost its luster, turning a dull, bruised purple where the sweat of three generations had soaked into the hide, and it was this specific shade of decayed elegance that Master Aldric found most difficult to resist, a darkness that seemed to absorb the light of the high vaulted ceiling and hold it prisoner in its grain. He stood in the center of the...
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