The Wistful Petal
The hand trembled, not from the cold that seeped through the thin wool of the tunic, but from a vibration that seemed to originate somewhere deep within the marrow of the wrist, a low, humming dissonance that had grown louder with every step taken up the spiraling stairs of the High Court. Elias Thorne watched the fingers of his right hand, the one that had always been the steady anchor of his...
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