The Wistful Petal
The banquet hall of the White Palace, a sprawling edifice of pale stone that rose from the mist like a bone exposed to the wind, was filled with a silence so profound it seemed to press against the eardrums. I sat at the far end of the long table, a place reserved for those who had once been kings but now were merely ghosts in the machinery of state. The air was thick with the scent of roasted...
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