The Wistful Show
"You have no right to wear that cloak," the magistrate’s scribe said, his voice thin and reedy as a winter wind threading through the gaps in the stone wall, "for it bears the seal of the Crown, and you are nothing but a beggar who has stolen the sun from the sky to keep your bones from freezing." You stand there, in the center of the damp, echoing hall of the city square, the cobblestones...
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