The Wistful Throne
Act I Vesna Petrovic would remember the cold first, a dampness that seeped into the marrow of her wrists long before the glass took hold. It was a Tuesday in the Neo-Balkan Court, a place of sterile white marble and high-tech ventilation that hummed with the quiet threat of obsolescence, where the air was always too dry for the old crafts and too clean for the dust of bone. She stood in the...
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