The Wistful Witness
The feast in the hall of the stone keep was a cacophony of clattering pewter, the sharp squeal of pig on sizzling grates, and the heavy, wet laughter of men who had forgotten their own mortality in the warmth of the hearth, but Elara sat at the far end of the long table, her hands wrapped tightly around a cup of thin ale, watching the oil in the chandeliers burn down into a black, sooty residue...
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