The Wistful Throne
The ink on the ledger page did not dry; it bled, a slow, viscous hemorrhage of black that spread across the heavy, cream-colored cotton paper like a bruise forming under the skin, and Elias Thorne watched it with the detached, cold fascination of a man observing a meteor shower from the safety of a sealed vault, his fingers trembling not from fear but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of the...
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