The Wistful Dinner
Elias Vane woke from a dream of wet slate and rising water, the taste of iron still thick on his tongue, a metallic ghost that clung to the back of his throat as if the air itself had turned to rust. He lay in the narrow bed of his workshop, the silence of the house pressing in against the walls, a suffocating blanket that made his chest ache with a pressure he could not name. He did not move...
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