The Wistful Grid
The date is the fourteenth of November, in the year of our Lord 1342, and I write this by the failing light of a tallow candle, my hands still stained with the grey residue of the lead cames that bind the heart of the Wistful Grid. I am a glassblower, a craftsman of the molten and the fragile, and for twenty years I have served the Duke of Ashworth, a man who views art not as a devotion to the...
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