The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a grey, suspended veil that turned the courtyard of the Blackthorn Keep into a pool of stagnant water. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the wet stone, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had seen more blood than his own veins had ever carried, watching the mist curl around the ancient oaks that bordered the grounds. The trees were still....
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