The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-23 05:54:49 -

The letter from the Dean lay on my desk, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the lemon oil used on the library’s oak floors. It was a polite rejection of my extension request, signed with a flourish that suggested the man had not read a word of the three pages I had attached. I looked at the date. November twenty-third. Seven days until the solstice, seven days until the...

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