The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 19:39:02 -

The hand was a thing of iron and bone. It rested upon the hilt of my sword, not as a tool, but as a limb. I had worn it so long that the steel had grown warm, pulsing with a rhythm distinct from my own. It was the hand of Sir Alaric, my captain, dead these three winters. Yet it remained. The castle of Blackwood stood against the gray sky, a monolith of stone that seemed to swallow the light...

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