The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 05:59:14 -

The banquet hall of the Ironworks sat suspended in a perpetual, amber twilight, the air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the metallic tang of ozone. It was a feast not of food, but of presence, where the shadows did not move but waited, and the chandeliers burned with a cold, starless fire. Margaret sat at the head of the long table, her fingers wrapped tightly around a silver cup...

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