The Wistful Show
The air in the courtyard tasted of copper and wet stone, a cold draught that bit through Aldric’s leather armor and settled in the hollows of his ribs. He stood before the High Warden, a man whose skin had begun to peel away in long, papery strips to reveal the rough, grey bark beneath, and he did not bow. "Release her, Warden," Aldric said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the ambient...
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