Elowen settled into the ornate chair opposite me with languid, predatory grace, violet eyes glinting like amethysts under the mana crystals' glow as he unveiled a silver tray laden with an elaborate feast—clearly summoned from some hidden kitchen void by a flick of his mana-wreathed wrist.
Steaming bowls of creamy lobster bisque swirled with golden saffron threads and plump chunks of tender claw meat, fragrant with cognac's warmth, fresh dill, and a whisper of sea salt that made my mouth water despite everything.
Beside it, a platter of honey-glazed quail roasted to crackling, amber perfection—each bird stuffed with nutty wild rice, sweet dried figs, and crunchy pistachios, drizzled in tart pomegranate reduction that pooled ruby-red and glossy on the porcelain.
Flaky venison pastries puffed high like golden clouds, filled with spiced ground meat, caramelized onions melting into tangy goat cheese, their buttery crusts still warm and flaking at the edges.
