The Wistful Grid
The letter is dated the fourteenth of November, in the year of our Lord, which by the reckoning of the King’s men is one thousand three hundred and sixty-two, and I write this down not for the court but for the cold, empty silence of my own chamber where the wind whistles through the cracks in the stone and the memory of my brother’s hand in mine is so sharp it feels like a physical wound that...
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