The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-21 20:38:15 -

The silence in the Infirmary was not empty; it was a heavy, living thing, thick with the smell of boiled willow bark and old blood. I sat on the edge of the straw mattress, my hands resting on my knees, the skin over my knuckles peeling away in white flakes, revealing the raw, red flesh beneath. The air tasted of iron and decay, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and refused to...

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