The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-19 08:48:10 -

The feast was loud. It was a roar. The trestle tables groaned under the weight of silver. The air smelled of roasting meat and stale sweat. I sat at the edge. I was the tool. I was the fixer. My hands were steady. My hands were always steady. The King sat at the head. He was tall. He was young. He looked like a boy playing dress-up. He did not look like a ruler. He looked like a victim. The...

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