The Wistful Silence
The stone floor of the Blackwood manor did not hold the weight of Sir Kaelen’s armor; it drank it. By the time he reached the library, the clatter of his greaves had been swallowed by the thick, damp silence that permeated the walls. It was the year 1348, and the plague had already taken the village outside, but inside, the air smelled of old ink and rotting lilies. Kaelen sought the Silence, a...
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