The Wistful Throne
The road is mud. The mud is deep. You are walking. You are not running. You are carrying nothing. You left the shop. You left the bell. You left the dust. You left the smell of beeswax and old leather. You are alone. The sky is gray. The trees are bare. You are a cobbler. You are a king. No, you are a man. You are a man who sold his soul for a stitch. You are a man who bought a kingdom for a...
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