The Distant Summer
The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb and old wax, a heavy, suffocating perfume that seemed to coat the tongue and settle deep in the lungs of everyone who entered through the high arched doors. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the room, his uniform crisp and unwrinkled, the brass buttons of his tunic catching the flickering light of the hundreds of candles that lined the long tables, while...
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