The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-19 05:29:14 -

The coat hung on the back of the chair. It was wool, heavy and dark, the color of a bruise that would not fade. Margaret stared at it. The buttons were brass, tarnished by sweat and rain. It was her mother’s. Or rather, it was the last thing of her mother’s that remained. The rest had been taken. The house, the name, the right to speak. All of it had been stripped away by the Ministry of...

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