The Distant Legend
The candlelight in the Hall of St. Jude did not flicker, for the air was still and thick with the scent of beeswax and old stone, a suffocating blanket that seemed to press against the eyes of those who sat at the long oak table, their faces pale and gaunt in the gloom, watching the figure who stood apart from the feast, a man whose silence was louder than the clatter of silver on porcelain and...
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