The Wistful Throne
The delta was a place where the water rose to meet the sky, a grey expanse of peat-cut fields and mud that swallowed the borders of the town whole. In the year 892, the air hung heavy with the scent of wet clay and rot, a dampness that settled in the lungs of every worker in the glassblower’s row, where the furnaces burned low and the glass was thin, brittle, and cheap. Vĩnh Nga stood in the...
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