The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-18 23:02:27 -

The bus does not stop. It rolls on through the grey morning, the wheels humming a low, persistent note against the wet asphalt. You are seated by the window, your knees pulled up to your chest, watching the suburban sprawl of Oakhaven blur into a smear of brick and ivy. The air inside is stale, smelling of damp wool and the faint, sweet decay of overripe peaches left in the grocery bag of the...

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