The Faded Guest
The banquet hall is a cavern of low-hanging chandeliers and the heavy, cloying scent of roasted lamb, the air so thick with warmth and noise that it feels less like atmosphere and more like a physical weight pressing against your lungs. You stand at the periphery, a ghost in a wool coat that has seen better decades, watching the current of guests swirl in a river of silk and laughter, their...
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