The Distant Garden
The silence in the Grand Hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard was not an absence of sound but a heavy, viscous substance, a thick grey sludge that pooled around the ankles of the assembled nobility, soaking into the tapestries and the stone floor, and it was within this suffocating quiet that Elias Thorne stood, his hands bound not by rope but by the crushing weight of expectation, his body a...
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