The Distant Affair
The hall smelled of roasted goose and iron. It was a smell that sat heavy on the tongue, thick as syrup, masking the copper scent of blood beneath. Colonel Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the table, his uniform immaculate, the brass buttons catching the flickering light of the chandeliers. He did not drink. He watched the cups fill and empty, the faces flush and bright, the laughter sharp and...
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