The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-20 14:14:28 -

I wake in the stone. It is not a dream, though the air tastes of sleep and old dust. The ceiling above me is a vault of gray limestone, cracked like dry riverbeds. I am a knight, or I was. I remember the weight of the mail, the bite of the leather. I am Sir Thomas Bradshaw, and I am standing in the Hall of Echoes, a place that exists only in the fever-dreams of the dying. The walls are not...

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