The Wistful Voyage
The hall was bright. Too bright. The chandeliers hung low, dripping gold into the dark wool of our coats. I felt the weight of my collar. It was stiff. It was new. It pinched the neck. I looked down. My wife, Elara, stood beside me. She wore the blue. The blue that matched the sky before a storm. We were scholars. We were guests. We were the only two from the North who had come to the Feast of...
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