The Wistful Show

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 17:43:45 -

The Wistful Show

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of Eamon’s throat. He stood near the pillar, his hands resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, feeling the familiar, comforting weight of the steel against his hip. The sword was not merely a weapon; it was an extension of his spine, a second skeleton of iron and leather that had worn...

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