The Golden Compass
The feast in the Great Hall of Harrowgate Manor was a spectacle of such opulent excess that it seemed to devour the air itself, filling the vaulted ceiling with a haze of roasting meat, spiced wine, and the heavy, cloying scent of beeswax candles that burned with a fierce, unsteady light. I sat at the far end of the long table, my hands folded in my lap, feeling the weight of the silk tunic...
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