“There stood fair Braganza, that shining monument
An ember of hope and a banner of pride
The child born to the mark of the foe
The mother of crossroads and paths not taken
Covered faces and eyes that choose not to see
Judgement faltered, and just hands strayed
The red dame stood when others sought to flee
Those yet living held the memory of dreams
There stood Braganza, that ashen monolith
Its embers now grown cold, a hollow tomb”
-From the writings of Sain Ein Laindred the lesser
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