The Faded Guest
The plain of Anatolia stretched out like a badland carved by grief, the earth cracked and dry under the late afternoon sun, where the wind moved through the dry grasses with a sound like old paper tearing. In the shadow of the palace walls, Serife Yildiz stood rigid, his left hand trembling as he gripped the hilt of his ceremonial sword, the metal cold against his sweating palm. He was...
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