The Distant Summer
The banquet hall is made of iron and steam. You sit at the long table, surrounded by men in suits that smell of coal dust and wet wool. They are eating. They are laughing. The sound is a low hum, like a hive of bees trapped in a bottle. You are not eating. You are wearing the dress. It is white. It is made of silk that feels like water against your skin. It is the only thing in the room that is...
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