The Wistful Incense
The feast in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s was a thing of grotesque abundance, a sprawling testament to the wealth of the county that sat in stark, glittering contrast to the mud and misery that clung to the boots of the men who guarded its gates. Sir Thomas Bradshaw stood at the edge of the dais, his plate untouched, the wax on his candle dripping a slow, golden tear onto the tablecloth,...
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