The Golden Farce
The bell did not ring; it screamed, a jagged shriek of iron that tore through the heavy, perfumed silence of the Great Hall, shattering the delicate equilibrium of the feast. Sir Aldric Thorne stood at the head of the long oak table, his plate abandoned, the silver fork still clutched in a hand that trembled not with fear, but with the sudden, violent realization that the world he had spent...
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