The Distant Promise
The feast at Blackwood Manor was a thing of terrible, glittering excess. The long oak table, scarred by centuries of knives and spilled wine, groaned under the weight of silver platters piled high with roasted swan and roasted root vegetables, their skins blistered to a deep, mahogany brown. Candles, thick as a man’s thumb, burned with a steady, hypnotic rhythm, casting long, dancing shadows...
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