The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-22 07:06:18 -

The feast hall of Oakhaven did not smell of roasted boar or spiced wine, but of damp earth and old blood, a scent that clung to the back of Elara’s throat like a physical weight. She sat at the far end of the long oak table, her hands resting in her lap, knuckles white against the rough wool of her skirt. Around her, the lords and ladies of the realm laughed, a sound like cracking branches in a...

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