The Wistful Skyline
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the lower city into slick mirrors reflecting the jagged, soot-blackened spires of the Citadel. I had been walking for hours, my boots heavy with mud and the accumulated weight of a week’s sleepless nights, my mind a cluttered archive of half-remembered faces and whispered confessions. The Citadel...
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