The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-21 10:44:23 -

The soot is already in your lungs, a gritty, familiar taste that coats the back of your throat like dried rust, and you are mid-swing, the iron bar of your shovel biting into the frozen mud of the alleyway behind the textile mill where the steam pipes hiss a continuous, mournful note that sounds suspiciously like a dying breath. You are one of the many, a speck of dark dust against the grey...

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