The Wistful Show
"You are a dead man, Elias. Do you hear me? The guild has spoken, and your hands are too broken to hold the light." The voice was Thomas’s, thin and high-pitched, cutting through the heavy, sulfuric stench of the Piazza della Signoria where the air hung thick with the smell of roasting chestnuts and horse dung. Elias stood on the wet cobblestones, his breath hitching in a chest that felt like...
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