The Distant Summer
The feast was not a celebration of joy, but a necessary ritual of endurance, a sprawling, chaotic tableau of roasted meats and spilled wine that filled the great hall of the manor house with a thick, suffocating heat that seemed to seep into the very stones and bind us to the earth. I sat at the lower end of the long oak table, a place reserved for those of my station, and I watched the...
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