The Alchemist's Lament
The candle burned down to nothing on the workbench, a puddle of tallow pooling around the brass base, and Elias Thornfield watched it die with the same detached attention he brought to everything now. Eight hundred and eighty-eight. The number sat in his skull like a stone. He could feel the weight of it, the precise geometry of nine hundred and eighty-eight heartbreaks, each one a small death,...
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