The Wistful Atlas
The feast was loud. Candlelight shook. Wine spilled. Red on white linen. Captain Elias Thorne sat rigid. His uniform was tight. Itchy. Wrong. Across the table, his wife, Clara, smiled. Her eyes were dark. Empty. She touched his hand. Her skin was cold. "Enjoy yourself, Elias." Her voice was soft. A trap. He nodded. Chewing meat. Tasteless. The room hummed with voices. Laughter. Sharp. Cruel. He...
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