The Golden Cellar
The feast was loud. It was too loud. Marta sat in the corner. She held a cup of wine. The wine was red. It tasted of dust. She did not drink. She watched the hands. They moved. They passed bread. They passed salt. They passed knives. The hall was old. The stone was cold. The fire burned low. Smoke curled in the air. It smelled of wood and fear. People spoke. They spoke fast. They spoke low....
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