The Wistful Incense
The great hall of Ashworth Manor did not smell of roasting boar or spiced wine, as the guests expected, but of wet earth and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood, a scent that clung to the velvet drapes and the heavy oak tables where the nobles sat in rows, their faces pale and slick with sweat under the chandeliers that flickered like dying stars. Lady Elara stood at the head of the table,...
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