The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 09:51:17 -

The rain did not fall so much as it seeped into the bones of the city, a cold and persistent dampness that clung to the stone walls of the Great Hall where the feast was held, a place where the air smelled of stale wax, roasted meat, and the heavy, metallic scent of old blood that had long since dried into the cracks of the flagstones. You sat at the long table of oak, your hands wrapped around...

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