The Wistful Silence
The velvet shawl drapes over your shoulders like a second skin, heavier now, warmer, as if it has absorbed the heat of every fevered night you have spent weeping in the shadows of the Hall. You are not a girl, not in the way the court understands it, nor are you a spirit in the way the old texts describe, but you are something that exists in the liminal space between the two, a creature of...
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