The Wistful Saga
Your hand is trembling as you reach for the crystal goblet, the cold glass slick with condensation, and you force your fingers to grip it until the knuckles turn white, a small, private rebellion against the giddiness that has taken hold of the room. The grand hall of the Ministry of Cultural Heritage is a cavern of gilded plaster and heavy velvet, the air thick with the scent of expensive...
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