The Wistful Voyage
The air in the Grand Antechamber of the Sterling Palace did not smell of dust or decay, as one might expect of a seat of power so old it had outlived the kings who built it, but rather of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of old copper pipes, a scent that clung to the velvet upholstery and seeped into the marrow of anyone who lingered too long within its high, vaulted shadows. Elara Vane...
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