The Wistful Show
Thorne, you are holding the microphone too tightly. The voice belonged to the Director, a man whose suit was cut with such severe precision that it seemed to absorb the light in the room. Elias Thorne loosened his grip on the stand, his fingers white-knuckled, and looked out at the sea of faces in the grand hall of the State Historical Society. The air here smelled of beeswax and old paper, a...
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