The Wistful Letter
The outer wall of Blackwood did not fall; it dissolved. The stones did not crumble under the weight of siege engines, but softened like wet clay in the hands of the Hollow Men, who pressed their faces against the masonry and whispered until the rock forgot its shape. You are Thomas Bradshaw, and you are thirty years old, and you are holding a rusted iron key that is the only solid thing left in...
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