The Wistful Witness
The room hummed. It was a low, thrumming vibration that started in the floorboards and climbed up through the soles of Elias’s shoes. He stood at the center of the hall, surrounded by the chandelier’s cold, white light. The light did not flicker. It did not warm. It cut. It had been a feast of silence. Guests moved around him in slow, viscous circles. They wore masks. Not paper masks. Not...
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