The Wistful Show
The air in the Great Hall of Dunbarshire smelled of roasted boar, stale ale, and the thick, cloying sweetness of the black roses that lined the high windows, a scent that seemed to press against the back of my throat like a physical weight, forcing me to swallow hard to keep from retching as I watched the Lord High Constable, a man named Aldous Vane, raise his goblet to the moonlight streaming...
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