The Wistful Witness
The seal of office is not a gift; it is a debt paid in ink and silence. You know this better than anyone in the King’s court, for you have spent twelve years grinding pigments and balancing ledgers while the Whispering Walls hummed their low, static song in the antechamber. It is a flaw in the masonry, a micro-supernatural anomaly that the royal engineers have tried to patch with lime and...
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