The Pale Bridge
The banquet hall of the Court of the Pale Moon was a cavern of velvet and bone, where the air hung thick with the scent of roasted quail, beeswax, and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep perpetually from the floorboards of the ancestral estate, a place where time did not flow so much as it pooled in stagnant, golden vats, waiting to be stirred by the heavy, deliberate movements...
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