The Faded Root

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2026-08-17 11:29:31 -

The Faded Root

The hall smelled of wet wool and burning tallow. We were many. Hundreds, perhaps. Seated on benches that scraped against the stone floor, we waited for the meal. It was a feast. Or it was supposed to be. The tables groaned under the weight of silver platters. Roast goose. Mashed potatoes. Gravy that pooled like dark oil. My father sat across from me. He did not look at me. He looked at the...

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