The Wistful Dinner
The air in the great hall tasted of dust and old wine. It was a heavy, metallic flavor that coated the tongue. Silas sat at the far end of the long oak table. He was a scholar of the old texts, a man of ink-stained fingers and quiet eyes. Before him lay a single plate. It was empty. Yet he watched it as if it held the world. The hall was vast. The vaulted ceilings disappeared into shadow....
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