In the dim glow of a flickering candle, the air in Lord Byron’s throne room is thick with the scent of dust and decaying grandeur. The once magnificent tapestries that adorned the walls now hang in tatters, their vibrant colors swallowed by the shadow of time. At the far end of the chamber, a solitary throne of blackened stone looms—a seat of power forsaken by those who once served. There sits Lord Byron, clutching his only belonging, his sword
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1*Alyssa✨
23/11/2024