The Distant Crown
The banquet hall of the Whitmore estate, a sprawling Victorian monstrosity of dark oak and heavy velvet that seemed to breathe with the accumulated weight of a century’s silence, was in full, chaotic ferment, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of roasted pheasant and the metallic tang of spilled wine that stained the white tablecloth like fresh, uncoagulated blood. It was a scene of...
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