The Wistful Dinner
The feast was a riot of gold and shadow, a sprawling banquet hall that did not exist in any map I had ever studied, yet felt as familiar as the grain of wood in my own hands. We sat at a long table of polished oak, the surface reflecting the candlelight like a dark, still river. To my left sat Elias, my husband, his face a mask of polite amusement, his eyes bright with a hunger that had nothing...
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