The Wistful Saga
The glass broke before you even touched it. That was the first wrongness, the silence of the shard falling against the mahogany floor of the antechamber, a sound so sharp it seemed to cut the air in two. You stood there, your hand still raised, trembling, while the Court looked on with that particular, polite horror that only the powerful can afford. It was not a vase. It was not a goblet. It...
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