She looked up at the black fortress before her, scythe resting on her shoulders. It had been grand, once; a symbol of strength, or fear, depending on who you were. She’d been, once, exactly a century ago. Banners had fluttered in the breeze, and people had bustled about. Merchants, peasants, but mostly soldiers, doomed to die in a pointless war.

Now, though, it was empty. No more banners. No more crowds. No more soldiers. Just black walls, wreathed in shadows and silence.