The Distant Ghost
The crystal chalice caught the light from the hundred candles in the Grand Hall, refracting the flame into a web of fractured gold across Elias Thorne’s trembling hands. He stood at the head of the long oak table, the wood scarred by centuries of knives and spilled wine, and lifted the vessel to his lips. The liquid inside was cold, a sharp red wine that burned on the way down, but the burn was...
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