The Wistful Witness
The mortar and pestle, carved from a single block of granite that had been polished by generations of hands until it shone with a dull, oily luster, sat upon the marble table in the center of the Grand Hall, a silent sentinel amidst the clatter of silverware and the low, humming murmur of the aristocracy who feasted in the candlelight, their faces illuminated by a glow that seemed to trap them...
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