The Faded Frontier
The dinner table is set with the kind of heavy, white porcelain that chatters softly when the silverware touches the rim, a sound like distant ice breaking on a frozen lake. You sit at the head, your uniform pressed sharp and stiff against your shoulders, the brass buttons catching the candlelight and throwing small, trembling stars onto the linen. It is a feast, or it is supposed to be. The...
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