The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 08:03:14 -

The feast is loud. It is a roar of silver and wax. You sit at the high table, the wood worn smooth by ten thousand elbows, yours among them. The air is thick with the smell of roasted goose and spilled wine. It clings to your clothes. It soaks into your hair. You are the Master Smith of the Court. You are the man who builds the King’s gates. You are the man who forges the locks that keep the...

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