The Wistful Skyline
The feast in the keep of Blackwood Hall was a cacophony of clinking silver and roasted meats, but for Elias Thorne, it was a suffocating cage. He sat at the far end of the long oak table, his hands clasped tightly in his lap to hide their trembling. The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and woodsmoke, a heavy, cloying aroma that seemed to press against his lungs. Around him, the...
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