The Wistful Dinner
The first entry in the leather-bound journal, dated the fourth of November, records the precise moment my left hand began to feel as though it belonged to a corpse, a sensation that started at the fingertips and crept slowly up the wrist like frost spreading across a pane of glass. I am Elara Vane, the King’s personal physician, and I have accepted this coldness as the price of my duty, a...
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