The Wistful Crossroads
The velvet coat hangs heavy in your hands, the fabric thick and cold as a river stone. It is a midnight blue, so deep it looks black, and it smells of iron and old dust. You are Elias Thorne, master tailor, and you stand in the gilded hall of the Royal Court, holding the garment that is supposed to be the crown jewel of the King’s coronation. The air in the hall is still, trapped beneath the...
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