The Wistful Show
The glass orb sat on the velvet cloth, a perfect sphere of amber light that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic heartbeat, and Professor Elias Thorne stared at it with the weary intensity of a man who had been staring at the same wall for forty years. It was not merely a decorative piece in the high, vaulted chamber of the Grand Council, though it looked like one, polished to a mirror sheen and...
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