The Faded Alibi
The table was long enough to hold a kingdom. It groaned under the weight of silver, of porcelain, of the heavy, sweating jars of honey and the baskets of bread that had been baked in the dark hours before dawn. The air was thick, a physical thing, tasting of yeast, rendered fat, and the metallic tang of old blood. It was a feast for the eyes, a spectacle of abundance that felt like an insult to...
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