The Wistful Throne
The fire in the archive room of Blackwood Castle did not start with a spark, but with a scream that seemed to tear the silence of the night in half, a sound so raw and human that it made the dust settle in a sudden, horrified stillness before the flames licked the shelves of the Duke’s ancestral records. Elias Thorne, a scribe of forty years whose hands were stained permanently with the...
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