The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-17 23:04:10 -

The hall smelled of wet wool and old blood. It was a long table. Stone. Cold. My father sat at the head. He did not eat. He watched the fire. I sat by the door. The door was heavy. Iron-banded. Locked from the outside. I could see the handle. I could not touch it. The guards stood by the walls. They held spears. They looked at me. They did not blink. My father’s eyes were red. Not from anger....

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