The Wistful Throne
The roof of the manor had come down not with a crash that shattered the silence of the valley, but with a long, groaning shudder that felt less like destruction and more like the body of a giant finally surrendering to the weight of its own bones, a catastrophic event that occurred in the dead of a Tuesday night when the only light in the world was the pale, sickly glow of the moon reflecting...
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