The Wistful Show
The iron in the soil tastes of rust and old blood. I know this because I have eaten it. Not by choice, but by the hunger of the body when the mind refuses to starve. I am a soldier of the King’s Guard, though the King is long dead and the Guard is a ghost that haunts the stones. My name is Elias. I wear the coat. It is blue. It is faded. It smells of wet wool and the particular, sharp scent of...
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