The Wistful Letter
You stand before the mirror in the gilded room, the one that spans the entire wall, its frame carved from white oak and inlaid with mother-of-pearl that catches the gaslight and scatters it into a thousand cold, fractured stars. The room is vast, a throne room of your own making, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old paper, the atmosphere of a court where you are both the king and the...
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