The Wistful Show
The High Steward did not look up from the ledger when Elias Thorne stepped into the office, his boots leaving black smears on the polished oak floor that had not been swept in a week, a testament to the Guild’s belief that dignity was a luxury afforded only to those who did not work with their hands. The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of ozone and stale ink, a cloying mixture that...
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