The transformation of the Great Hall was an act of aggressive opulence. The austere training mats where we usually practiced defensive wards had been rolled away, the scarred wooden floors polished until they gleamed like oil. The lecture podiums, symbols of Coven authority, were gone. In their place stood a massive, U-shaped table draped in linen so white it hurt the eyes, the fabric cascading to the floor in heavy, starched folds.
The table groaned under the weight of the feast. Roasted pheasants, their skins lacquered a deep amber, sat next to mountains of glazed root vegetables that smelled of honey and thyme. There were silver platters piled high with raw delicacies offerings meant to appease the predatory appetites of the wolf guests.
Chandeliers that usually hung dark and dusty no
