The Distant Garden
The banquet hall at the Hotel Imperialis smells of stale champagne and wet wool, a suffocating perfume that clings to the velvet curtains and settles into the porous stone of the floor, creating a heavy, invisible weight that presses against your temples and muddies the edges of your thoughts as you stand in the corner, holding a glass of sherry you have not touched, watching the crowd swirl...
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