The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-19 17:08:31 -

The morning mist clings to the iron gates of the citadel, a grey veil that tastes of rust and damp stone. You stand at the head of the watch, your hand resting on the pommel of a sword that has not seen blood in a decade, only the dull, red polish of ritual. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of wet earth and the faint, sweet decay of lilies placed on the altar three days ago. You are Sir...

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