The Distant Blade
The hall is bright, a cavern of polished mahogany and chandeliers that cast a light so white it feels less like illumination and more like judgment. You stand near the edge of the room, your hands clasped behind your back, watching the sea of faces swirl in their expensive silks and wools. The air smells of lavender sachets and the metallic tang of spilled wine. You are wearing your uniform,...
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