The Pale Banner
Lord Vane’s banquet was a grotesque parody of prosperity, a riot of silver and candlelight that seemed to vibrate against the very walls of the mill’s dining hall, a low, subsonic thrum that I felt first in my molars and then in the hollow of my chest, a physical weight that pressed against my ribs as I stood among the workers and the shareholders, my hands trembling not from the cold but from...
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