The Wistful Voyage
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, grey veil that smothered the cobblestones of the old quarter until the world looked like a painting left out in the damp. You were standing on the balcony of the Magistrate’s office, the stone cold through your boots, watching the mist swallow the city. Your hand rested on the hilt of your sword, not for comfort, but out of habit, the way a...
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