The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-20 17:20:25 -

The hall smelled of waxed oak and old wine. It was a smell that clung to the nose, thick and sweet, like a memory one could not shake. Margaret stood at the edge of the room, her hands clasped tightly before her, feeling the roughness of the tablecloth beneath her fingers. The air was heavy with the hum of conversation, a low, constant drone that seemed to vibrate in her bones. Around her, the...

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