The Wistful Throne
The fire started in the thatch of the east wing, a sudden, roaring beast that turned the twilight sky into a bruised purple and then a searing, white heat. It did not consume the house of Alden Vane slowly, as one might expect from a slow leak of oil or a forgotten ember. It exploded into existence, a catastrophe of light and smoke that sucked the air from the lungs of those who stood on the...
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