The Golden Mirror
The feast is loud. You are there. You sit at the head of the long oak table. The wood is old. It groans under the weight of the plates. The candles flicker. They cast long shadows. The shadows dance. They look like hands. They look like claws. You do not look at them. You look at your plate. You eat. You chew. You swallow. The meat is tough. The wine is red. It stains your lips. You wipe them....
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