The Wistful Show
The mortar shatters against the cobblestones, sending a spray of black powder and broken ceramic into the rain. You are Elias, thirty-two, and your hands are bleeding where the shards have cut deep, but you do not feel the pain. You feel only the weight of the tax collector’s baton as it swings again. You duck. The wood strikes the wet stone with a sound like a bone breaking. You are not a...
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