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... tower a splinter of frosted breath, every wall a testament to the cold that ruled Martha's heart. The snow they trod was dry and crunched beneath their feet like bones of the dead as they ascended the curved stairs, their breaths misting in the air, disappearing into the howling winds that wept around the frosty spires. Its walls were smooth with a cold cruel light, unfriendly and hard, as if the castle itself was trying to keep out unwanted visitors.

The old man's hand shook, grasping ...

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