The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-22 02:06:37 -

The Great Hall of the Abbey of St. Cuthbert hummed with a low, thrumming chord. It was not the sound of voices, though many were present. It was the sound of the stone itself, vibrating under the weight of centuries. The air smelled of beeswax, damp wool, and the metallic tang of old blood. Margery sat at the high table, her hands folded in her lap. They were pale, almost translucent, the blue...

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