The Golden Harbor
The air in the hall was thick with the scent of rotting lilies and old wax. We sat at the long table, the white cloth stretched taut like a drumskin. The chandeliers above us were heavy with dust, their crystals dull and clouded. They did not sparkle. They only weighed us down. My father sat at the head of the table. He did not eat. He watched the food as if it were an enemy that had breached...
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