The Distant Metropolis
The banquet hall is a cavern of gaslight and heavy velvet, the air thick with the scent of roasting lamb, spilled wine, and the metallic tang of fear that has seeped into the pores of everyone present. You sit at the long oak table, your hands trembling slightly beneath the tablecloth, the weight of the silver goblet in your grip feeling absurdly fragile against the impending chaos. Around you,...
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