The Faded Chronicle
The table in the Great Hall of the Whitmore estate was not merely set for a meal but for a judgment, the long expanse of dark oak polished until it reflected the faces of the guests like a still, black pond. In the center lay the centerpiece, a towering arrangement of roasted pheasants, their skin rendered to a brittle, mahogany gloss, surrounded by mountains of mashed potato that had been...
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