The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-23 18:36:48 -

The stone was cold against Mara’s back. It sat in the center of the barren field, a rough-hewn seat that looked less like furniture and more like a wound in the earth. The wind howled through the dry stalks, a sound like tearing cloth. She had come here because the bank was coming. The bank was always coming. Her son, Thomas, lay in the next room, his breathing a wet rattle that shook the walls...

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