The Wistful Mountain
The city of Aethelgard did not sleep so much as it held its breath, a vast, stone-throated beast crouching in the fog where the river bends, and in the highest tower of the Magistrate’s palace, where the wind whistled through the cracks in the mortar like a mournful spirit seeking entry, stood Elias Thorne, a creature of glass and shadow who had mistaken his own reflection for a god and...
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