The Wistful Throne
The velvet is gone. That is the first thing you notice when you wake from the dream of the throne, the deep, blood-red velvet that once swallowed the light in the old chapel hall. It is stripped away now, leaving only the bare, gray oak beneath, scarred and pale as bone. You are sitting on it. You are always sitting on it, but the texture has changed. It is no longer soft. It is hard, and it is...
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