The Pale Garden
The banquet hall was a cavern of suffocating opulence, draped in velvet so heavy it seemed to absorb the light from the crystal chandeliers until the air itself turned thick and amber. We sat at a long table of polished mahogany, the surface reflecting our pale, waxen faces in a distorted mirror, and before us lay a feast of roasted pheasant and truffle cream that tasted, to my tongue, of ash...
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