The Distant Affair
The hall smells of rot and lilies. You stand in the center. The floor is stone. It is cold. It bites through your boots. You are the scholar. You are the judge. You are the house. Around you, the guests dance. They move in slow circles. Their feet do not touch the ground. They hover. One inch. Two inches. They are the dead. They are the living. It is hard to tell. The light is amber. It comes...
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