The Wistful Dinner
The dream begins with the sound of porcelain striking a hardwood floor, a sharp, crystalline shriek that cuts through the grey fog of your early morning. You are standing in the center of the dining room, your feet bare against the cold oak, and you are holding a shard of white bone china in your hand, the edge biting into your palm, though you feel no blood, only a cold, numbing pressure that...
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