The Wistful Throne
The rejection letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet and smelling faintly of toner and defeat. I read it three times, the words blurring as the low-frequency Hum vibrated through the soles of my shoes, a sensation like standing on a plucked cello string that had gone loose. The final load-bearing calculation for the Aether Spire was not just wrong, the memo stated in its sterile,...
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