The Golden Downtown
The feast in the Hall of Whispers was a symphony of rot and gold, a cacophony of silverware clinking against bone china that rang like funeral bells in the minds of the assembled nobility. Lady Elara stood at the edge of the dais, her fingers white-knuckled around the stem of a wine goblet, watching the Duke of Ashworth devour a roasted pheasant with the indiscriminate hunger of a wolf. The air...
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