The Wistful Dinner
The iron kettle sat upon the hearthstone, its surface dull with the grey patina of decades, and I watched the steam rise from it in thin, wavering lines that dissolved into the cold air of the hall. It was a small object, unremarkable to the untrained eye, yet it held the weight of my history within its cast-iron bones, a vessel that had once boiled water for the household of Lord Alistair...
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