The Wistful Show
The champagne flute slipped from your fingers, shattering against the parquet floor with a sound like a bone breaking. You froze, the shards glittering under the chandelier light, while the hum of the gala continued around you, oblivious to the small catastrophe at your feet. "You’re bleeding," Mara said. Her voice was low, a whisper that cut through the ambient noise of the string quartet. She...
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