The Wistful Witness
The dream began with the sound of breaking glass, not the sharp, clean shatter of a window pane, but the wet, crunching fracture of a long bone, a sound that echoed in the hollows of Arthur Penhaligon’s ears as he woke in the stifling heat of the carriage. He was traveling to the Imperial Court at Whitehall, a journey that felt less like a movement through space and more like a descent into a...
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