The Pale Shadows
The feast was a wound in the dark. It spread across the long oak table in the great hall of the Abbey of St. Jude, a landscape of roasted boar, honeyed fruits, and goblets of wine that smelled of iron and old earth. I sat at the end, my hands folded in my lap, feeling the weight of the silence that pressed against my ribs. The candles flickered, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to...
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