The Faded Bouquet
The banquet was a riot of silver and steam. You sat at the long oak table, your fingers stained yellow from the turmeric, the saffron, the relentless gold of the spices that defined you. You were the chef. The only one who knew the secret. The room hummed with the low vibration of power. Above you, the chandelier cast a web of light, trapping the dust motes in a slow, swirling dance. It was a...
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