The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-18 18:03:31 -

The banquet hall hummed with a low, industrial thrum. It was not a sound of celebration, but of machinery. The air tasted of copper and stale perfume. Margaret stood at the edge of the room, her hand resting on the cold brass railing. She watched the guests. They moved like oil on water. Smooth. Separated. In the center of the hall, a clock ticked. It was a large clock, older than the building....

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