The Golden Quest
The needle hung suspended in the air, a sliver of steel catching the dusty motes that drifted through the single window of the workshop, and Elias Thorne stared at it with a horror that was not of the mind but of the muscle, a tightness in the forearms that had begun three days prior and refused to release, for he was holding the last of the mourning velvet, a fabric so deep it seemed to absorb...
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