The Pale Dance
In the dim, candlelit antechamber of the High Court, where the air hung thick with the scent of beeswax and old fear, a young squire named Elias stood with his head bowed so low that his chin nearly touched the cold stone floor, his hands trembling so violently that the silver chalice he clutched against his chest seemed to vibrate in sympathy with the frantic drumming of his heart. He was not...
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