The Wistful Throne
The bell rings. It is a dull, heavy sound. It shakes the dust in the rafters. You feel it in your teeth. You are at the desk. The ink is wet. The pen is sharp. You do not move. Your hands are flat on the wood. The wood is cold. It bites into your palms. "Margaret." The voice comes from the shadows. It is not a voice. It is a memory of a voice. You know who it is. You know because the air...
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