The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 07:43:56 -

The blade was slick with blood. It was not his. Or perhaps it was. The distinction had blurred in the red mist that hung in the air, thick as syrup. He stood in the center of the ring. The floor was wet. It smelled of copper and old stone. Around him, the crowd was silent. They were not people. They were shapes. Faces dissolved into gray smudges. They waited. They wanted him to fall. He looked...

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