The Golden Cellar
The feast was a failure of blood and bread, a hollow ceremony held in the shadow of my own obsession. I watched the tallow candles gutter in the draft, their light struggling against the damp chill that seeped up from the earth beneath our feet, while Elara sat at the head of the table, her face pale as parchment, her hands trembling slightly as she cut a slice of mutton that remained...
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