The Wistful Throne
The ink in my pen is dry, a fact that seems to mirror the state of my lungs, but I find I cannot stop writing. I am Elias Thorne, fifty-four years old, and I have spent the last three decades cataloguing the silence of this city. My want is singular and desperate: to secure the final royal pardon for my brother, Julian, who is dying of the Gray Withering. The opposing force is not malice, but...
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