The Faded Frontier
The chain that encircles your left ankle is not made of iron, but of woven silk so fine it resembles a spider’s web in the early morning light, and it has been attached to you since the day you were born, a secret that the High Warden of the Glass Citadel knows but chooses, for now, to ignore. You are a prisoner of your own making, a sinner who has locked the door from the inside, and the air...
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