The Wistful Dinner
The ink was still wet on the page when the cold crept up my ankles, a dampness that had nothing to do with the rain outside and everything to do with the hunger hollowing out my stomach. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a squire who has spent the last decade polishing armor that does not fit him and eating bread that does not fill him, and I write this down because the date is the 14th...
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