The Pale Meridian
The frost had settled into the crevices of your knuckles long before the first light touched the ridge, a cold so deep it felt less like weather and more like a judgment, a verdict passed by some unseen tribunal of stone and silence. You stood there, alone on the precipice of the Grey Hollows, your breath hanging in the air like a ghost that refused to dissipate, each exhale a small surrender...
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