The Wistful Crossroads
The iron is hot. It is always hot. You feel the heat not in your skin but in the marrow of your ribs. You are not a man. You are a furnace. You are a bell. You are the tower that holds the sky up, and the sky is heavy, and the iron is breaking. You stand in the center of the nave. The stone floor is cold under your hooves. No, not hooves. Shoes. Leather, black, stiff with sweat. You are wearing...
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