The Distant Ghost
The chalice in Lord Vane’s hand was heavy, a slab of violet crystal that seemed to drink the light from the torches rather than reflect it, and he poured the wine with the slow, deliberate care of a man who knows the weight of what he is holding. You stood in the center of the great hall of Blackstone Keep, the stone floor cold and unyielding beneath your boots, your eyes fixed on the liquid as...
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