The Wistful Dinner
The rain had not stopped for three days, a grey curtain that blurred the edge of the world and turned the manor’s stone walls into a weeping, porous skin. I stood by the hearth, the only source of warmth in the vast, hollowing hall, watching the embers breathe their final, sluggish breaths. My hands, once steady enough to carve the finest oak into intricate filigree, now trembled with a palsy...
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