The Golden Farce
The rain against the glass of the apothecary’s window was not merely water but a relentless, grey erasure of the world outside, blurring the gaslight until it became a smeared, weeping halo that offered no clarity, only a damp and shivering uncertainty that seeped into the bones of Elias Thorne, the senior appraiser of the Royal Consortium of Curiosities. He stood before the mahogany desk, his...
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