The Distant Metropolis
The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and old stone, a thick, cloying perfume that seemed to coat the back of my throat, making every word I spoke taste of ash. We were gathered around the long oak table in the estate of Lord Vane, a man whose name was spoken with a reverence that bordered on fear, his power stretching across the valley like a shadow that refused to lift. I sat at the...
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