The Faded Ruin
The soup was cold, or perhaps it had never truly been hot to begin with, settling in the bowl with a viscosity that spoke of preservation rather than nourishment, and I watched the steam that had long since evaporated leave behind a film on the surface that caught the dim, artificial light of the communal hall, reflecting it back in a distorted, oily smear that reminded me of the varnish on the...
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