The Faded Attic
The feast was a cacophony of clattering pewter and the heavy, wet thud of roasted swine upon oak boards, a riot of smoke and sweat that seemed to choke the very air of the great hall, where the tallow candles sputtered in the draft and cast long, trembling shadows against the rough-hewn stone walls. In the center of this tumult stood Elara, her hand resting not upon the hilt of a sword, but...
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