The Pale Verdict
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a grey, suffocating curtain that smelled of iron filings and wet wool, a scent that had seeped into the very marrow of my bones during the long, arduous journey up the winding, cobblestone road that led to the gates of the Iron Citadel, a fortress of black stone that pierced the smog-choked sky like a jagged finger pointing accusingly at the...
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