The Pale Bridge
The iron gate of the fortress is already rusted into a lattice of red dust, but the gate itself remains closed, and the lock is intact, and the air beyond it tastes of ozone and old rain. You are standing in the mud of the valley, your boots sinking into the earth with a sound like the wet tearing of skin. You are a soldier, or you were, before the uniform began to dissolve into the fog, before...
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