The Faded Dust
The feast was a grotesque thing, a sprawling tableau of roast lamb and stale wine that sat in the bellies of the men like a heavy, cold stone, and it was there, in the center of the long oak table where the candlelight flickered with a sickly, yellow hum, that the silence between the two friends became a physical weight, a tangible thing that pressed against the eardrums and made the air taste...
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