The Wistful Dinner
You dream of the house, or perhaps you are merely awake in a room that has the weight of a dream, the air thick with the smell of damp plaster and old wood. It is a large Victorian structure, one of those sprawling, asymmetrical things that cling to the edge of a hillside, overlooking a valley that is not quite a valley but a depression in the earth where the fog pools like spilled milk. You...
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