The Faded Dust
The feast in the Great Hall of the Ashworth estate was a riot of crimson and gold, the air thick with the cloying scent of roasted pheasant, stale wine, and the heavy, musky perfume of the lilies that lined the long table, where I sat as the silent, ink-stained observer at the far end, my fingers trembling not from the cold of the stone floor but from the terrible, vibrating weight of the...
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