The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-18 08:54:51 -

The banquet hall of the Ashworth Estate smelled of roasted pheasant, beeswax, and the heavy, cloying sweetness of decay. It was a scent that clung to the velvet drapes and settled in the hollows of the throat, a tangible weight that pressed against the lungs. I sat at the long oak table, my hands folded neatly in my lap, beneath a gown of stiff, cream-colored silk that felt less like fabric and...

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