The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-19 22:50:48 -

The fog did not lift so much as it dissolved, turning the air into a thick, gray soup that tasted of iron and old rain. I stood at the edge of the marsh, my boots sinking into the black muck, while the town of Oakhaven lay behind me, silent and asleep under a blanket of mist that smelled of damp wool and extinguished hearths. My commander, Sir Julian, had given me the order before the sun had...

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