The Wistful Show

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2026-08-22 18:51:00 -

The Wistful Show

The parchment was damp, the ink of the seal smeared into a black smear that looked less like a royal crest and more like a bruise. Sir Aldric held it with hands that shook not from the cold, though the frost in the village square was sharp enough to crack stone, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the paper itself. It was a decree, a strip of authority that weighed nothing in his palm yet...

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