The Faded Apartment
The banquet was not held in a hall of stone or a tent of silk, but in the hollowed-out ribcage of a cathedral that had long since forgotten the name of the god it was built to house, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting lamb and wet wool and the metallic, cold tang of blood that seemed to cling to the back of the throat of every man who sat upon the rough-hewn benches that had been...
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