The Wistful Silence
The stone gate of Ashwood Keep did not creak so much as it sighed, a long, rattling exhalation of rusted iron against ancient mortar that seemed to echo in the hollows of my own chest. I stood before the breach, the final seal of the perimeter, my hand resting on the hilt of a sword I had not drawn in three years, while the Mirror Mist coiled around the archway like a living thing, reflecting...
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