The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 19:05:29 -

The tea was cold. It sat in the chipped blue cup like a stagnant pond, thick and gray, smelling of iron and old leaves. I did not drink it. I only stared at the surface, watching the ripples expand and fade, a silent pulse in the dim light of the cell. "Drink," I said. My voice sounded foreign. Rough. Like gravel shifting under a boot. Silence answered. Not the empty silence of a room, but a...

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