The Wistful Dinner
The banquet hall was not a room but a breath held in the throat of the night, a vast and suspended cavern of polished obsidian and drifting, luminescent moss. Elara sat at the head of a table that stretched into a horizon of fog, her chair carved from the bone of a creature whose name had been lost to the centuries. She was an exile, though she had not been born into this place, nor had she...
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