The Wistful Show

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2026-08-20 07:08:57 -

The Wistful Show

The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a grey curtain drawn tightly around the spires of the King’s Hall, erasing the boundary between the stone and the sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, roasted chestnuts, and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep from the flagstones regardless of how often they were scrubbed. Sir Julian Thorne stood in the shadows...

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