The Faded Attic
The dream was always the same. A glass owl, perched on a beam of black oak, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments that fell like rain. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of copper in his mouth, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was three in the morning. The tribunal began at dawn. He dressed in the dark, the wool of his shirt scratching his neck, and walked to the window. The...
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