The Pale Dance
The hall smelled of roasted goose and old wood, a thick, cloying scent that seemed to settle into the fibers of your tunic and stay there long after the feast had ended. You stood at the edge of the crowd, a boy of twelve years who had forgotten his own name in the face of such grandeur, watching the light from the forty candles dance across the faces of the gentry. They were all smiling, their...
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