The Wistful Throne
The deed lay on the mahogany table, its ink still wet and glistening like a fresh wound in the center of the banquet hall, and Elias Thorne, a master tailor of forty-two years who had built his empire on the precision of a single stitch, stood frozen with the pen hovering an inch above the signature line, the weight of the room pressing down on him with the physical force of a collapsing...
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