The Wistful Dinner
The first crack in the ceiling of the Grand Hall did not announce itself with a sound, but with a silence so profound it swallowed the hum of the chandeliers and the murmur of three hundred guests, leaving only the dry, papery tear of plaster as it peeled away from the iron ribs of the structure, falling like ash onto the white tablecloths that had been starched to the rigidity of bone. You...
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