The Wistful Dinner
The soup was too hot, and the silence was too loud. Dr. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his hands wrapped tightly around a ceramic bowl of consommé, the heat seeping into his palms like a warning. Across from him, the chandeliers hung in crystalline constellations, refracting the gaslight into a web of cold, sharp stars that seemed to pin the room to the floor. The air...
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