The Wistful Dinner
The dream is always the same. You sit at the table, the candlelight low, and your shadow peels off the wall like wet paper. It does not speak. It simply takes the fork, eats the meat, and leaves you with the bone. You wake gasping, the taste of cold wax in your mouth. It is morning, and the shop is quiet, but the air feels heavy, as if the room is holding its breath. You are Elias Vane, a...
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