The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the distinction between the sky and the ancient, rotting stone of the fortress walls, where Kaelen stood with his back against the cold masonry, feeling the dampness seep through the wool of his tunic until it became a second skin, tight and suffocating, binding his ribs like the iron bands that once held the castle...
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