The Pale Path
The feast had lasted three days, and the air in the great hall of the village of Oakhaven hung thick with the scent of roasted lamb, spiced wine, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that lined the long tables. It was a celebration of the harvest, a rite so ancient that no one remembered its first performance, a ritual of abundance that masked the profound scarcity of the spirit. At the...
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