The Distant Ghost
The air in the Great Hall of Ashworth Keep was thick, not with the usual chill of the highlands, but with a heavy, cloying sweetness that seemed to coat the back of the throat, a scent of overripe pears and stale honey that hung in the vaulted shadows like a physical weight, pressing down on the shoulders of every soul present as the feast reached its most decadent and terrible climax, where...
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