The Wistful Mirror
The name called out to you was not your own, but it carried the weight of a hammer blow against the ribs of the feast hall. Elias Thorne, you thought, correcting the misapprehension in your mind, as Captain Halloway stood at the head of the long oak table, his voice cutting through the humid air of the mid-September night. The hall was crowded, the air thick with the smell of roasting pork and...
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