The Wistful Show
The chain is heavy. It rests upon your shoulder. Cold iron. Rust. You feel the weight of it in your soul. It is the weight of a name. A name you no longer own. You stand before the High Warden. His shadow falls over the floor. The stone is damp. The air is thick with incense and decay. He does not look at you. He looks at the cup in his hand. It is silver. Etched with vines. He drinks. The...
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