The Wistful Ashes
The ink on the decree was still wet when I read it, a glistening smear that looked like a bruise on the parchment. It was a simple document, three lines of elegant script, signed by the Chancellor, commanding the immediate dissolution of the House of Ashworth. We had served the Crown for three generations, our name etched into the lintels of the great hall, our loyalty woven into the very...
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