The Golden Song
The banquet hall in the mill town of Oakhaven smelled of roasted goose, spilled wine, and the metallic tang of old iron, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad memory. We were gathered around a table long enough to house a regiment, men in their dress uniforms, their medals catching the gaslight in sharp, accusatory glints, while the women in their best silk gowns watched us...
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