The Faded Attic
The King is dead. The fever took him in the night, leaving the palace silent save for the ticking of the great clock in the hall. I am Elias, the Royal Archivist. I am forty-two years old. My hands are shaking. I reach into my coat. The seal is there. It is cold against my palm. It is the only proof of my loyalty. It is the only thing that matters. The court is whispering. They say the seal is...
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