A Glare Card, Read Twice

A Glare agent’s card reached House Fishpond’s runner by the afternoon bell, its ink still warm from the press: a lamp as bright and comfortable as a hearth, paid for in Glare coin, with spare glass promised and no fuss over oil. Tamsin read it twice, once for the warmth and once for the small print about who might dim it. She folded it into her coat and went back to the lamps.