The Pale Verdict
The table was long enough to seat forty, and every place was taken. You remember the weight of the silverware in your hand, the cold, heavy reality of it, contrasting sharply with the heat of the room. It was a harvest feast, the kind that only comes once in a decade, when the soil is generous and the sky is clear enough to forget what the earth hides beneath its feet. You sat at the far end,...
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