The Wistful Dinner
The second year of the plague had stripped the city of Oakhaven to its bones, leaving only the creak of timber and the silent, hungry stretch of shadows in the corners of your workshop. You sat on the cold stone floor, the air tasting of iron and old blood, holding the cracked hourglass that had begun to leak sand upward, defying the gravity that held the rest of the world in its grip. You were...
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