The Wistful Asylum
The table was long enough to seat thirty, and it was groaning under the weight of it, a landscape of silver platters and crystal goblets that caught the low, amber light of the chandeliers and fractured it into a thousand trembling shards of gold that danced across the faces of the guests who sat in polite, rigid silence, waiting for the meal that was supposed to save us, for the soup that was...
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