The Wistful Saga
The iron gate stands before you, a jagged scar of rust and rivets that seems to breathe in the damp, industrial twilight of the city, and you stand on the other side of it, your hands trembling not from the cold but from the terrible, heavy silence that has settled over your bones for the last three months, a silence that feels less like peace and more like the vacuum of a space where a sound...
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