The Wistful Throne
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring to call the faithful to prayer. It rang to summon the dead. You stood in the center of the stone hall, the air thick with the scent of damp moss and old blood. The year was 1342, or perhaps it was always 1342, for time had grown stagnant here, trapped behind the iron gates like a rat in a jar. You were not human. You were a Wisp, a fragment of...
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