The Wistful Throne
The carriage wheels groaned against the packed mud of the causeway, a rhythmic, mournful scraping that seemed to echo the hollow ache growing in the center of Julian Thorne’s chest as the silhouette of Blackwood Keep rose from the mist, its stone walls not merely built but grown from the very bones of the earth, heavy with centuries of silent judgment and the weight of unspoken oaths that bound...
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