The Pale Path
The feast hall smelled of roasted boar and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of my throat like guilt. I sat at the high table, my hands folded in my lap, watching the oil from the chandeliers drip onto the stone floor in slow, golden tears. Around me, the scholars and magistrates of the University drank and laughed, their voices rising in a cacophony that felt distant, as...
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