The Wistful Cipher
The feast at the manor of Lord Alistair Vance was not a gathering of joy, but a display of power so heavy it seemed to warp the air itself. The chandeliers, dripping with crystal that caught the firelight and shattered it into a thousand cold, hard stars, hung low over the long oak table. We were few in number, bound together by the invisible chains of duty and debt. I sat at the far end of the...
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