The Distant Blade
The house held its breath. It was a grand, iron-lunged thing, built in the age of smoke and steam, where the windows were tall and narrow, watching the street like weary sentinels. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and beeswax. The chandeliers burned low, casting a honeyed light over the gathered guests. They moved in slow circles, their laughter soft and distant, muffled...
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