The Wistful Throne
The brass valve in your hand is warm, hot even, radiating a heat that bites into your palms. It is a small, intricate thing, no bigger than a walnut, but it feels heavy with a weight that has nothing to do with its mass. You tighten it against the flange of the Grand Engine, the metal groaning in a low, resonant pitch that you feel in your teeth before you hear it in your ears. The Ironworks...
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