The Pale Bonsai
The chandelier in the Grand Hall was not made of crystal, but of thousands of tiny, white porcelain teacups, each one filled with a liquid that shimmered like mercury and smelled faintly of lavender and old dust, and as I stood there in my ill-fitting suit, feeling the weight of the gaze of hundreds of strangers who seemed to be made of smoke and static, I realized that I had not eaten in three...
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