The Wistful Show
The chandeliers in the Hall of Records did not merely hang; they hovered, suspended by an invisible tension that matched the airless stillness of the Midsummer Gala. Elias Thorne stood near the base of the dais, his fingers white-knuckled around a glass of champagne he had not sipped, watching the High Chancellor, Lord Vane, move through the crowd with the fluid, predatory grace of a man who...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews