The Wistful Throne
The air in the chamber tasted of copper and wet wool, a scent that had seeped into the very marrow of the stone walls over the last century, binding the past to the present in a suffocating embrace. You stood before the high-backed chair, the throne of a kingdom that no longer existed, its velvet upholstery frayed at the edges, the gold leaf on its armrests chipped away by the indifferent...
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