The Faded Apartment
The candlelight in the Hall of Whispers did not so much illuminate the High Council as it revealed them, turning their faces into masks of gilded anxiety and political calculation. Elias Thorne, the Royal Archivist, stood at the periphery of the feast, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed not on the roasted pheasants or the flowing wine, but on the ancient oak tree visible through...
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