The Wistful Throne
Elias, get down from that ledge. The voice was not in my head, nor did it come from the mouth of the foreman, Kael, who stood below with his arms crossed over a chest that seemed too large for his coat. It rose from the seat of the chair I had just vacated, a low, rusted hum that vibrated through the soles of my boots and up into the hollow of my knees. It was Martha’s voice, or the memory of...
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