The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-20 11:18:59 -

The Wistful Saga

The feast was a riot of silver and bone china, the clatter of cutlery a sharp, rhythmic heartbeat against the silence of the great hall. We sat at the long oak table, our faces gaunt beneath the chandeliers’ amber glow. The air smelled of roasted pheasant and old wax, a scent that had seeped into the very grain of the wood over centuries. I sat opposite my wife, Elara. Her hands were steady,...

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