The Wistful Dinner
The table is long. It stretches like a spine. You sit at the head. The candles are tall. They burn low. The wax pools. It looks like blood. It looks like tears. You are alone. Or so it seems. The air is thick. It tastes of ash and honey. There are guests. You do not see them. You hear them. They hum. It is a low sound. It vibrates in your teeth. You are an exile. You crossed the sea. You left...
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