The Wistful Throne
The train rattled through the night, a long, iron beast exhaling steam into the freezing air, and you sat in the corner of the compartment, your hands resting on your knees, feeling the vibration of the tracks through the soles of your boots. You were leaving. That was the first thing to accept, the fact that you were a man who left, who stepped back from the front line not because he was...
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