The Faded Root
The banquet hall of the Ashworth Estate smelled of roasted boar, stale wine, and the metallic tang of old blood. It was a vast, cavernous room, high-ceilinged and cold, where the chandeliers were not made of crystal but of knotted human hair that had grown thick and matted over centuries, swaying gently as if breathing in the draft from the open windows. Sir Edward Ashworth sat at the head of...
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