The Faded Guest
The tea in the porcelain cup had gone cold, a dark, stagnant mirror reflecting the dust motes dancing in the shafts of afternoon light that pierced the heavy velvet curtains of my office, and I stared at it with the detached curiosity of a man observing a specimen under glass, knowing full well that the liquid was no longer water but something far more viscous, a suspension of memories and...
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