The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-19 16:56:02 -

The fire did not come from the hearth. It came from the air itself, a sudden tearing of the sky above your thatched roof. You felt it before you saw it, a pressure in the chest, a silence so deep it drowned the barking of the dogs. Then the light. A white, screaming light that turned your hands to bone. You are a weaver. That is all you are. Not a lord. Not a saint. A man of thread and loom....

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