The Wistful Dinner
The candle guttered in the draft of the high stone vault, casting a trembling shadow against the wall where the Inquisitor stood. He held the bowl. It was heavy, leaden, and cold to the touch, despite the heat of the tallow flame. Inside sat a single spoon, tarnished by years of use, by years of tasting the bitter truths of men. Thomas Whitmore was the Keeper of the Record. He was not a man of...
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