The Wistful Silence
The air inside the Great Hall of Oakhaven Manor tastes of stale wax and the metallic tang of old blood, a heavy, cloying sweetness that clings to the back of your throat and refuses to be swallowed, forcing you to breathe through your mouth in shallow, terrified sips as you stand at the edge of the banquet table where the silverware has been laid out with a precision that feels less like...
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