The Faded Chronicle
The hall was loud. Too loud. The air smelled of roast goose and stale beer. Men in black coats crowded the tables. They shouted. They laughed. The laughter was sharp. It cut through the noise. It cut through the cold. Thomas stood by the wall. He held a glass. He did not drink. The glass was cold in his hand. He looked at the floor. The carpet was red. It had a pattern of gold lions. The lions...
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