The Wistful Throne
The scales in the accounting office were calibrated to the gram, and Elara had spent the last four hours weighing out the truth, grain by grain, until her eyes burned with the effort of keeping the books balanced. It was November in 1912, and the air in the basement of the Harrowgate Ironworks was thick with the smell of wet iron and stale tobacco, a cold that seeped through her woolen skirt...
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