The Faded Guest
The porcelain shattered against the marble floor of the Grand Ballroom not with a single, decisive crash, but with a cascading, granular whisper that seemed to swallow the sound of the violins, leaving Margaret Holloway standing in a pool of white shards that glittered like frozen tears under the chandeliers, while the air around her grew thick with the scent of ozone and crushed lavender, a...
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