The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-21 21:44:32 -

The Distant Ghost

The banquet hall smelled of rendered fat and old stone. Torches hissed in their iron brackets, throwing long, trembling shadows against the vaulted ceiling. Sir Thomas Bradshaw sat at the head of the table. His plate was empty. The meat was cold. He watched the flames dance. They were hungry. They ate the wood. They ate the dark. The feast was a tradition. A test. The lords of the valley had...

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