The Faded Guest
The silk glove lay on the velvet tray, iridescent and cold, humming a low note that vibrated against the mahogany surface like a trapped fly. Elara watched it from the doorway of the Emperor’s private wardrobe, her fingers twitching at her sides, unable to reach out. The room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun, leaving only the glow of the gas lamps to cut through...
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