The Wistful Witness
The soup was cold. Elias stirred the spoon. The metal clinked against the ceramic bowl. The sound was sharp. It echoed in the small room. The walls were damp. The wallpaper peeled. It curled like dead skin. Elias did not look up. He stared at the grey surface of the broth. He did not eat. He could not eat. Not yet. The door opened. It creaked on rusted hinges. A figure entered. It was Thomas....
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