The Wistful Campus
The severed hand of Lord Aldous Blackwood lay on the iron gate of the Duke’s keep, the palm up, the fingers curled in a final, silent grip. Elias, a nineteen-year-old page whose duties had been limited to polishing silver and carrying messages between the lower halls, stood before the macabre display as the morning mist clung to the wet stones. The Duke, Valerius, watched from the shadows of...
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