The Wistful Skyline
The first thing the boy noticed was not the gold, but the way the light moved through the glass, a slow, viscous bleed of amber that seemed to suspend the dust motes in a state of eternal, trembling hesitation. He stood at the edge of the dais, his shoes leaving faint, damp prints on the polished marble, and he watched the King not as a ruler but as a man who had forgotten how to be a child,...
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