The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-21 18:17:41 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a heavy, wet gray curtain that smelled of coal smoke and wet iron, blurring the edges of the world into a smear of slate and rust. Thomas Ashworth sat in the back of the horse-drawn carriage, his knees pressed tightly together, his hands resting on the hilt of his service revolver though the weapon was drawn and heavy, a dead weight that...

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