The Wistful Skyline
The rain has been falling for three days, a cold, persistent sheet that turns the cobblestones of the courtyard into slick mirrors of the grey sky above. You stand at the window of the tower, your hand resting on the iron latch, feeling the chill seep through the wool of your sleeve. The stone beneath your fingers is damp, cool to the touch, a constant reminder of the age of this place and the...
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