The Distant Summer
The chandelier in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Estate did not shine so much as it hovered, a suspended constellation of cold, cut crystal that fractured the dim, amber light of the candlesticks into a thousand trembling, disjointed shards of glass, each one a separate, silent scream trapped within its geometric prison. I stood at the periphery of the banquet, my fingers white-knuckled around...
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