The Pale Door
The feast hall was thick with the scent of roasted goose and beeswax, a cloying sweetness that clung to the back of Aldric’s throat like a second skin, and he sat at the foot of the high table where the shadows pooled deepest, his armor still warm against his chest, humming with the residual vibration of a violence that had not yet fully settled into his bones, while above him the great hearth...
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