The Pale Bonsai
The air in the hall was thick with the scent of roasting goose and the sharper, metallic tang of old money, a perfume that clung to the velvet drapes and settled into the pores of the skin like a fine, invisible dust that no amount of scrubbing could ever fully dislodge, and I stood at the edge of the banquet table, watching the silverware clink against the porcelain with a rhythmic, mechanical...
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