The Faded Photograph
The silver circlet sits upon your brow like a band of frozen moonlight, cold and unyielding, yet it pulses with a heat that seeps into the marrow of your skull, a sensation you have learned to mistake for love. You are Sir Aldric, knight of the Order of the Black Sun, and you have worn this relic for three years, ever since the plague took Elara, for it is the only vessel that holds her voice,...
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