The Faded Apartment

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2026-08-23 11:51:56 -

The air in the King’s antechamber did not smell of sickness, but of wet iron and old dust, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a physical weight. I stood before the throne, my hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing effort of holding back the miasma that coiled around the monarch’s bed like a living, breathing thing. I am Elias, and for thirty years I have...

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