The Wistful Witness
The feast in the Great Hall of Blackwood Manor was a cacophony of silverware and wine, the air thick with the scent of roasted boar and the damp, mossy breath of the October evening pressing against the high windows. Elias Thorne stood in the shadow of a pillar, his hands hidden in the folds of his leather apron, watching the Duke’s courtiers laugh and drink while the great clock on the far...
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