The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-17 12:32:36 -

The feast is a riot of gold and smoke. You stand in the corner of the great hall. The air is thick. It smells of roasted boar and wet wool. Your father sits at the high table. He is a king now. He wears the crown. It sits heavy on his brow. You watch his hand tremble as he lifts a goblet. He does not look at you. He looks at the fire. The fire eats the wood. It eats the light. It eats the...

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