The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 06:14:28 -

The soup was still warm. I could see the steam curling off the surface in thin, lazy ribbons, rising to meet the low beams of the tavern. It smelled of thyme and bone, a scent that had been my comfort since I was a girl, before the world turned its back on us. I sat across from my brother, Thomas. He was carving a piece of chicken, his knife moving with a steady, mechanical rhythm. Clack....

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