The Distant Ghost
The feast was not a celebration of joy, but a ritual of endurance, held within the high, vaulted stone of the old manor where the shadows seemed to breathe with their own sluggish, ancient rhythm. Candles guttered in iron sconces, casting long, trembling reflections across the oak table where the remnants of a heavy meal lay congealing in the cold air. Sir Thomas Ashworth sat at the head of the...
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