The Faded Quadrant

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:37:16 -

The fog rolled in from the moors, thick as wool and cold as grave dirt. It swallowed the castle walls whole. I stood in the courtyard, my sword heavy in my hand, the metal slick with moisture. My father, Sir Thomas, stood across from me. His face was pale, drawn tight by fear. But his eyes were bright. Too bright. "Strike true, Edward," he said. His voice was low, a rasp against the wind. I did...

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