The Wistful Ashes
The banquet hall of the Ashen Court rang with the clatter of silver and the murmur of a thousand voices, a cacophony that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elara’s bones. She stood at the edge of the dais, her fingers twitching at her sides, hidden within the folds of her coarse wool skirt, waiting for the moment to slip away. The air was thick with the scent of roasted boar and old wine, but...
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