The Wistful Throne
My hands were shaking as I tried to steady the pen, the ink blurring into the grain of the wood. I am Calum Rollo, and I have kept this post for six years. The drawer was open, and the symbol was there, wet and black, carved into a piece of driftwood I had found years ago. It was the mark from my nightmares, the one that looked like a door with no handle. I touched it. The wood was cold, but...
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