The Wistful Dinner
The banquet hall smelled of roasting pork, stale beer, and the damp wool of the courtiers who crowded the long tables, their laughter a jagged thing that seemed to scrape against the high vaulted ceiling where the ivy had grown thick and green over the stone, a living tapestry that pulsed with a quiet, persistent life that I felt more than I saw, a heartbeat that matched my own in a rhythm I...
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