The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-19 08:49:50 -

The cellar smelled of wet stone and old iron. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, my boots sinking into the damp. The air was thick. It pressed against my skin. Above, the feast roared. I could hear the clink of silver. The laughter of men. They drank to my success. They drank to my soul. I did not look up. I could not bear to see their faces. They were bright. They were warm. Here, it was...

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