The Wistful Throne
I have always dreamed of the chisel, that heavy, iron-boned thing which does not care for the softness of the stone or the trembling of the hand that wields it, and in the dream I am standing in a courtyard paved with slate that stretches out toward a horizon where the sky is the color of a bruise, and there is a throne in the center of it all, a massive, jagged thing of black marble that seems...
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