The Wistful Show
The feast was a blinding thing, a cascade of gold leaf and roasted pheasant that seemed to swallow the very air in the great hall. You sat at the far end of the long oak table, the wood worn smooth by centuries of hands that had never trembled. The torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting long, wavering shadows that danced like restless spirits. Around you, the courtiers of King...
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