The Pale Tower
The feast was a riot of color in the dim, candlelit hall, a kaleidoscope of silk and stained glass that seemed to breathe against the cold stone walls. Edric stood at the edge of the table, his fingers tight around the stem of a wine cup that had gone cold in his hand, watching the movement of the other guests as if they were figures in a dream that was slowly beginning to fade. They were...
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