The Wistful Skyline
The chandelier in the ballroom of the Thorne Estate did not hang from a single point of suspension but seemed to float in a state of perpetual, weightless equilibrium, its crystal prisms refracting the amber light of the candles into a spectrum that shifted subtly with the temperature of the room. Elias Thorne, fifty-four years old and possessed of a mind that had long ago traded the warmth of...
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