The Wistful Silence
The chandelier above the long oak table hums with a low, electric vibration that seems to pull the air downward, thickening it until the breath in your lungs feels heavy, almost liquid. You sit at the head of the table, the silver service gleaming under the crystal light, while the centerpiece of wildflowers in the porcelain urns before you shifts in a way that defies the season. The blue...
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