The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-22 11:44:37 -

The feast in the Hall of Whispers was not a celebration of joy, but a ritual of endurance. The long table stretched out like a grey tongue across the stone floor, laden with roasted boar, salted fish, and wheels of pale cheese that wept in the cool air. I sat at the far end, my hands folded in my lap, feeling the weight of the centuries pressing against my temples. I was Elara, or so the...

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