The Wistful Letter
The iron gates of the Citadel did not open for me, but rather, they exhaled a cold, metallic sigh that seemed to strip the warmth from the marrow of my bones, leaving me standing in the courtyard where the shadows of the towers stretched long and thin like the fingers of the dead. I was a soldier of the Outer Guard, a man whose uniform had long since ceased to be a badge of honor and had become...
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