The Wistful Dinner
The frost had eaten the edges of the world, creeping into the marrow of the house, and in the center of the dining room, which had been stripped of its mahogany chairs and replaced by a single, stark oak table, sat Elara, who was not entirely of this flesh, though she wore it with such convincing precision that one might mistake her for a widow who had simply forgotten how to die. She was a...
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