The Faded Apartment
The table is set for twelve, but there are only two of you. The candles gutter in the draft that seeps through the old stone walls, their light catching the dust motes dancing in the air like suspended ghosts. You look at the plates. White china, heavy and cold. The silverware is tarnished, dull as old bones. You do not pick up your fork. You do not pick up your knife. You simply watch the...
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