The Faded Attic

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2026-08-19 17:57:57 -

The Faded Attic

The feast was a thing of noise and grease, a clamorous engine of wood and iron that churned in the great hall of the manor house. The air hung thick with the scent of roasted pork and stale ale, a heavy, suffocating blanket that settled over the shoulders of the guests. Sir Thomas Ashworth sat at the high table, his face a mask of polite indifference, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above...

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