The Pale Door
The feast in the Great Hall was a cacophony of silver on porcelain and the low, grinding hum of two hundred minds that had already decided who Elara was before she had spoken a single word. She stood at the edge of the tapestry, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, watching the steam rise from the roasted boar in long, white ribbons. The air was thick with the scent of roasted garlic,...
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