The Wistful Skyline
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the village square into a slick, black mirror that reflected the grey, unbroken sky above. I stood at the window of my quarters, watching the water drip from the eaves in a steady, rhythmic tick that seemed to count the seconds of my life away. My hands, still stained with the dust of the road and the sweat of the guardhouse,...
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