The Wistful Throne
The ink was black. The paper was white. The room was cold. Elias sat. He waited. The clock ticked. One second. Two. A lifetime. The scratch of a quill. Distant. Sharp. It cut the silence. It cut the air. It cut his skin. He looked at the seal. Red wax. Hard. Cold. The crest of the Ashworth family. A lion. Roaring. Teeth bared. Elias knew the lion. He knew the teeth. He had felt them. Years ago....
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