The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 22:16:12 -

The soup is cold. It has been sitting in the tureen for an hour, a congealed, yellowish disc of fat that smells of old lard and regret. You stir it with a silver spoon, the sound of the metal against the porcelain sharp and jarring in the quiet of the dining room, a sound like a bone snapping. The chandelier above you is unlit, the crystals hanging like frozen tears, catching the grey afternoon...

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