The Wistful Silence
You stand before the silver door. It is heavy. It is cold. The handle is a lion’s head. Its eyes are glass. They do not blink. You are the servant. You are the ghost in the kitchen. You have been here for twenty years. Your hands are stained with turmeric and blood. No one sees the blood. It washes out. “Is it ready?” The voice comes from the shadows. It is Lord Ashworth. He is tall. He wears a...
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