The Wistful Show
In the dream, the castle did not have walls. It had only the weight of the air, a thick, velvet silence that pressed against Edward’s eardrums until they throbbed with a low, rhythmic pain. He stood in the center of the Great Hall, but the floor was not stone. It was made of a single, unbroken sheet of polished obsidian, reflecting not his face, but the face of the King, who sat upon a throne...
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