The Wistful Dinner
You are standing in the center of the great hall, your boots sinking into the dust that has settled over the marble floor like a gray snow, and the air around you is thick with the scent of ozone and old blood, a smell that has permeated the very stones of this decaying palace until it is indistinguishable from the smell of the place itself. The war did not end here; it merely paused, holding...
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