The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-20 19:08:23 -

The Wistful Saga

The ink was wet. It bled into the grain of the oak, spreading like a bruise. I held the quill still. My hand did not shake. It never did. Not since I took the oath. "Is it ready?" I looked up. Thomas stood in the doorway. His face was pale. The light from the streetlamps outside cut harsh lines across his cheeks. He was my friend. He was my brother in blood, if not in name. We had built this...

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