The Wistful Dinner
Thorne. The name was called out by the housekeeper’s sharp, thin voice, cutting through the heavy, humid air of the bedroom like a wire through damp wool. Elias Thorne sat up in the dark, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts that fogged in the sudden chill of the room, and he looked down at his hands to see if the moths were there, the small, iridescent things that had been stitching...
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