The Distant Threshold
You will forgive me if I speak plainly, for the tongue of the Hall is a thing of iron and silence, and I find that my own voice, once so fluid as water over smooth stones, has begun to calcify in the throat. I am the Keeper of the Seals, a title that sounds grand in the ears of the laymen who walk the cobblestones of Aldbury, but which is, in truth, merely a leash attached to a neck that is not...
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