The Wistful Dinner
The stone bites. It is cold. It is old. You feel it through the soles of your bare feet. The floor of the Hall of Echoes is not merely ground. It is bone. It is the compressed memory of ten thousand years. You are standing in the center. You are the stain. You are the crack in the wall that the masons could not patch. "Are you there, Thomas?" The voice comes from the shadows. It is low. It is...
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