The Golden Visit
The banquet hall of the Obsidian Foundry did not smell of roasted fowl or spiced wine, as the invitations had promised, but rather of ozone, wet iron, and the sweet, cloying rot of lilies that had been left too long in stagnant water. It was a sprawling, vaulted space of soot-stained brick and riveted steel, a cathedral of industry repurposed for a ritual that defied the rational laws of the...
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