The Wistful Show
The hall was gold. Not the dull, tarnished gold of old coins, but a living, breathing amber that pulsed like a second heart. It hung in the rafters. It coated the pillars. It seeped from the floorboards. The air tasted of honey and iron. Cael stood at the edge of the feast. His armor was dented. The leather of his straps was cracked. He smelled of sweat and old rain. Around him, the nobles...
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