The Wistful Show
The quill slips in your hand, the nib tearing the parchment as you try to sign the confession of your own incompetence, the ink bleeding into the fibers like a wound that refuses to clot. You are Elias Thorne, and you are forty-two years old, and the weight of the iron cuff on your wrist is heavier than the guilt you have carried for three years since the solar eclipse you predicted failed to...
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