The Faded Alibi
The banquet was a riot of silver and steam, a cacophony of clinking cutlery and forced laughter that echoed off the high, vaulted ceilings of the factory dining hall. Margaret sat at the long table, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, fingers working the fabric of her apron into a pulp. The air was thick, suffocating, heavy with the smell of roasted meat and the underlying,...
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