The Pale Door
The feast was a roar of gold and wine. Margaret sat at the high table. The candlelight caught the silver rim of her goblet. It hummed. She held the goblet. The metal was warm. Too warm. It pressed against her palm. The heat seeped into the bone. Around her, the court spun. Lords in velvet. Ladies in silk. They laughed. The sound was sharp. It cut the air. They toasted to the King. They toasted...
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