The Pale Verdict
The banquet at St. Jude’s Institute was a spectacle of rigid geometry, where silver cutlery clicked against porcelain with the precision of a metronome counting down to an inevitable silence. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, my fingers wrapped tightly around a crystal glass of claret that tasted faintly of iron, watching the Headmaster, Mr. Aldous Thorne, preside over the feast...
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