The Wistful Throne
The cart groaned under the weight of the silence as it rolled over the cobblestones, a sound like a man clearing his throat before speaking a truth he had long since buried. I pulled the reins tighter, my hands raw and bleeding against the leather, feeling the vibration of the city’s ancient, indifferent pulse thrumming up through the axles and into the bones of my arms. We were entering the...
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