The Wistful Skyline
The city of Aethelgard did not rise so much as it accumulated, a dense and stratified sediment of stone and sorrow that had settled over the centuries like silt in a stagnant river, its spires piercing the low-hanging mists not with the arrogant defiance of modernity but with the weary, enduring persistence of bones that had long since ceased to ache. I had traveled for three days and nights on...
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