The Wistful Ashes
You stand in the shadow of the high stone spire, where the air tastes of wet limestone and old, suspended dust, and you know that the silence here is not empty but rather a heavy, breathing thing, a living membrane that presses against your skin and holds you in its cold, indifferent embrace, for you are not a man or a woman of flesh and blood in the way the citizens of Aethelgard know it, but...
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