The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-22 04:16:35 -

The dream began with the smell of wet ash and the sound of a bell that had no tongue. I was standing in the courtyard of the Old Quarter, the stone beneath my boots slick with rain that had fallen for three days straight. The sky was a bruised purple, heavy and low, pressing against the slate roofs of the city. I was wearing my uniform, the wool thick and itchy, the brass buttons cold against...

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