The Golden Downtown
The feast was a cacophony of silver and bone, a glittering sprawl of crystal decanters and roasted pheasant that seemed to vibrate with the latent energy of the house itself, an old stone manor in the Scottish Highlands where the air was always thin and tasted of iron and ancient rain. I sat at the head of the table, my hands folded in my lap, watching the steam rise from my soup in slow,...
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