The Faded Ruin
The stone of the High Court of Aethelgard does not merely stand; it breathes, a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction that sends shivers through the marrow of anyone foolish enough to press their ear against the ancient masonry. I am Silas Vane, a border warden of thirty-two years, and for the last decade I have watched the red sap seep from the cracks in the walls, a viscous, crimson fluid...
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