The Wistful Dinner
The steam from the copper kettles did not merely rise; it curled into the air like the ghosts of arguments long forgotten, a thick, industrial fog that sat heavy on the shoulders of the room, a place where the walls wept condensation and the floorboards groaned under the weight of a century of footsteps. It was a tavern, or perhaps a kitchen, or perhaps the antechamber to a dream that had gone...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu