The Wistful Dinner
The ash fell like snow, but it did not melt, settling in the hollows of your shoulders and the crevices of your armor with a weight that felt heavier than steel. You are standing in the center of the keep, the air thick with the scent of burnt pine and old blood, your sword point resting against the floorboards as if you were a tree that had forgotten how to grow. The walls of the stone chamber...
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