The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-22 22:37:20 -

The feast in the Hall of Whispers was a blur of gold leaf and roasted swan, but my eyes were fixed on the King. He sat at the head of the table, a mountain of velvet and ambition, his face illuminated by a hundred tallow candles. I was Elias, forty-two, a scribe with ink-stained fingers and a debt that weighed heavier than the iron crown. My brother, Thomas, was in the debtors’ prison, his...

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