The Wistful Saga
The hand is gone. It sits on the table. A relic. A bone. White. Clean. It does not move. It does not tremble. It is not the hand of the King. The court is loud. They shout. They scream. They point. They want blood. They want the head. They want the truth to bleed out on the stone floor. Margaret stands in the center. She is old. Her back is bent. Her eyes are sharp. She looks at the hand. She...
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