The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-23 15:29:05 -

The cellar of the Wool Guild smelled of wet stone and the sharp, acidic tang of mordants, a scent Elias had breathed for twenty years until it became indistinguishable from his own blood. He stood before the master’s oak desk, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the sudden, violent absence of weight where his wife’s presence had always been. Mara was gone. There was no note, no sign of...

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