Once, Under False Suns
Once upon a time, though not in a kingdom with a gate and a banner, there was a man who was not a prince. That was his good fortune. Princes are written by other people. He had begun, at last, to write himself.
He was forty-something. Not the bright edge of youth, not the long dusk either. The age where a man can remember the person he used to impersonate and feel a...
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