The Distant Joke
The hall smells of roasted venison and old stone, a scent that has seeped into the mortar and the heavy velvet drapes, creating an atmosphere so thick you can taste the weight of history on your tongue. You stand at the periphery of the feast, your fingers gripping the stem of a glass of wine until your knuckles turn white, watching the figures move through the candlelight. They are not merely...
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