The Distant Promise
The wine is red, thick as arterial blood, and it stains your fingers before you even touch your lips. You are at the high table, the one reserved for the inquisitors and the lords of the manor, but you feel like a guest who has lost their invitation. The hall is a cavern of stone and shadow, the air heavy with the scent of roasting meat, tallow, and the cold damp that seeps through the mortar....
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