The Wistful Mountain
The feast was loud. It was too loud. Elias sat at the far end of the long oak table. He watched the candles. They flickered. They shook in the draft. He wore his black coat. It was old. It was frayed at the cuffs. It was the only thing he owned that mattered. The Lord spoke. He raised a glass. The hall erupted in cheers. Elias did not cheer. He looked at his hands. They were still. They were...
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