The Pale Bridge
The banquet hall of the Abbey of St. Jude is not a place where light goes to die, but where it is imprisoned. It is a cavern of stone and shadow, vast enough to swallow a ship, yet the air is so thick with the scent of burning tallow and stale wine that you can taste the weight of the ceiling on your tongue. You are sitting at the long table of oak, your hands folded in your lap, the wood grain...
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