The Wistful Show
Elias Thorne, the voice in the dream was not his own, but a cold, metallic rasp that seemed to grind against the inside of his skull, calling out his name like a summons to a court of judgment. I woke with the taste of copper in my mouth, the taste of blood, and the terrible, heavy reality that my hands were trembling, a fine, persistent shake that made the tweezers in my grip look like the...
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