The Faded Alibi
The feast in the great hall of the city of Aethelgard was not a celebration of joy but a ritual of endurance, a sprawling, suffocating tableau of roasted swan and honeyed figs arranged upon tables of dark oak that groaned under the weight of the city’s most prominent citizens, where the air was thick with the scent of burning tallow and the metallic tang of old blood still drying on the...
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