The Wistful Dinner
The steam rose in thick, curling ribbons from the iron cauldron, obscuring the face that stared back from the polished brass mirror of the Grand Hall, a face that seemed to stretch and thin with every second of the alchemical reaction. Elara Vane, thirty years old and the Duke’s private physician, stood with her hands trembling on the rim of the vessel, her mind locked on the singular,...
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