The Wistful Ashes
The silver goblet caught the light of the chandelier and threw it back in a fractured, jagged array of stars that danced across the high, vaulted ceiling of the Hall of Purity. Silas Vane stood at the edge of the long oak table, his spine rigid, his hands folded in the precise, geometric alignment that Director Halloway had drilled into him during his first week of service twelve years ago. The...
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