The Faded Paradox
Thorne. The name was called by Lord Vane, his voice carrying the distinct, practiced weight of a man accustomed to being obeyed, cutting through the clatter of silverware and the low hum of the banquet’s two hundred guests. You turned, your chair scraping a harsh note against the marble floor of the Hall of Mirrors, a sound that felt too loud, too real, in a place where the air itself seemed to...
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