The Distant Crown
"Another layer of lacquer, Thị Trang? The solstice is three days away, and the crown is still bare." Minh leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, the light from the workshop’s high window slicing through the dust motes that hung in the still air. I did not look up. My brush, loaded with the dark, viscous urushi, moved in a slow, deliberate arc across the curved base of the headpiece....
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