The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-17 22:07:41 -

You stand before the glass. The reflection is old. Too old. You are a scholar of things that do not exist. Or perhaps things that have been forgotten. The office is cold. The air tastes of dust and decay. Outside, the rain hammers the stone. It sounds like a funeral. It sounds like a war. You look at the plant in the corner. A fern. It is dying. Its fronds are brown. Crisp. Dead. You call it...

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