The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-19 20:54:48 -

The candle guttered. The wax pooled. It looked like a small, white corpse. I sat in the chair that had been my father’s. It was not a comfortable chair. It was made of oak that had turned black with age and smoke. The room was cold, but not the cold of winter. It was the cold of a held breath. My name is Elias. I am a clerk. I count ledgers. I do not dream. Or at least, I did not dream until...

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