The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 06:01:19 -

The wine was red. Thicker than blood. It stained the linen of the long table, a slow, spreading bruise. We drank. We laughed. The laughter was sharp, brittle things that shattered against the stone walls of the hall. I did not laugh. I ate. The meat was salted pork, tough and gray. I chewed it until my jaw ached. I swallowed. The taste remained. Iron and ash. Lord Ashworth sat at the head. He...

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