The Golden Farce
The crystal chandeliers of Blackwood Hall did not shine so much as they vibrated, a low, subsonic hum that turned the teeth of the guests into aching throb and the wine in their glasses into a trembling gel. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the banquet table, his hands clasped tightly to hide their shaking, while his wife Mara sat three seats down, her face a mask of pale, feverish stillness...
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