The Faded Alibi
The hearth fire burned low, casting long, skeletal shadows against the stone walls of the Great Hall. It was a feast, though the word felt ill-fitting for the quiet, heavy silence that pressed against the back of my throat. The table was long, draped in cloth of deep burgundy, and the air smelled of roasted goose, beeswax, and the damp earth that crept in through the unsealed cracks of the old...
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