The Wistful Silence
The chandelier broke before the music stopped. It did not shatter with a crash. It fell in a slow, glittering rain of leaded glass and silver wire, defying the weight of gravity, drifting down through the smoke of the gas lamps. Julian watched it. He stood in the center of the ballroom of the Hotel Aethelgard, a structure of iron and glass that stood alone in a field of white mist. The floor...
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