Barnabas sinclair: a fish out of water
Once upon a more dignified time, I wore velvet waistcoats, wrote with a raven-feather quill, and was addressed as “Master Sinclair.” I dined with queens, lectured on alchemy, and owned more hair than modesty. Now I have fins. Not elegant fins, mind you. I am a goldfish—orange as a poorly baked tart and … Read more