The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-22 12:26:25 -

The cold iron of the boundary stone, worn smooth by decades of rain and the careless hands of surveyors, sat in my palm, its cracks deep enough to hold dirt, a small, jagged mouth of the earth that I had tried to ignore for three months. I looked up from the stone, which I had pulled from the garden bed at dawn before the servants arrived, to the long table of Lord Vane’s banquet hall, where...

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