The Wistful Cipher

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2026-08-17 20:22:26 -

The frost came to the glass at midnight. It bloomed in ferns of white, spreading across the windowpane of the High Steward’s office like a disease. Margaret Holloway sat at the desk, her hands folded over a cold cup of tea. The air in the room was still. It held its breath. Outside, the palace slept. Or so it seemed. She was a clerk. A minor functionary in the vast machinery of the Court. Her...

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