The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 15:08:43 -

The rope burned your hands. You did not scream. You had learned long ago that sound is a luxury you could not afford. The wind off the moor tore at your tunic, a coarse wool garment dyed the color of dried blood. It was the only thing left of the old guard. You clung to it. You clung to the memory of the day you had first worn it, back when the sky was clear and the village below was whole....

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