The Wistful Show
The crystal stem of the wine glass is cold against Elias Thorne’s palm, a sharp, biting chill that feels more real than the warmth of the banquet hall. He holds it up, not to drink, but to anchor himself, the liquid inside a dark, stagnant pool that refuses to tremble despite the thrumming of the orchestra in the corner. Around him, the department’s annual gala is in full swing, a sea of silk...
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