The Wistful Voyage
The banquet hall was a cavern of gold and shadow. Candelabras burned low, their flames trembling in the still, heavy air. Margaret stood at the edge of the room, her hand resting on the back of a high-backed chair. The wood was cold. She watched the figures move across the polished floor. They were blurred, indistinct, like smoke rising from a fire. The music was a low hum, a drone that...
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