The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 02:19:56 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the great hall of the Citadel of St. Jude tasted of iron and stale incense, a metallic tang that coated the back of Marguerite’s throat as she stood before the High Chancellor. The torches flickered in the draft, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to reach for her ankles, yet she remained perfectly still, her hands clasped so tightly that the knuckles had turned the color of...

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