The Wistful Mirror
The quill in Elias’s hand snapped, the tip splitting into three jagged shards that scattered across the parchment like broken teeth. He did not flinch. His fingers, wrapped around the remaining handle, trembled with a violence that had nothing to do with the cold draught leaking through the high windows of the throne room. Across the long table, King Aldric sat with his arms crossed, the weight...
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