The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-18 04:22:30 -

Mara lay in the white bed of the containment ward, the sheets pulled up to her chin, and dreamed of the taste of iron. It was not the metallic tang of blood, but something older, heavier, like the sediment at the bottom of a deep, stagnant well. In the dream, she was standing in a field that stretched endlessly in every direction, the grass tall and silver, swaying in a wind that smelled of...

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