The Faded Apartment
You are standing in the courtyard of the citadel, but it is not the stone you know, nor the sky above it; the air is thick with the scent of ozone and crushed lavender, a perfume that belongs to no specific season, hovering in the liminal space between the world of men and the realm of ghosts. You are General Elias Thorne, or at least your body remembers the weight of the uniform, the rigid...
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