The Faded Paradox
The candles in the Great Hall of Oakhaven flickered, casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls, and I counted the heads of the nobles as they raised their goblets to the new Inquisitor, Thorne. He was a man of sharp angles and sharper eyes, his black robes swallowing the light as he sat at the head of the table, untouched by the wine or the roasted boar that steamed in the center...
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