The Faded Ruin
The banquet hall smells of roasted pork and damp wool. You sit at the long table, your plate untouched. The room is crowded. Men in grey uniforms laugh too loud. They eat. They drink. The air is thick. You watch the chandelier. It sways. A drop of wax falls. It lands on your sleeve. You do not wipe it off. Across the room, a man stands. He is tall. He wears a coat of black velvet. His face is...
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