The Wistful Show
The soup is still hot. You can see the steam rising from the bowl, curling into the cold air of the banquet hall like a ghost refusing to leave. It is a thick, golden broth, studded with root vegetables and herbs you cannot name, smelling of earth and something sweeter, something that feels like memory. You are the cook. You are the keeper of this pot. And you are about to be cast out. "Look at...
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