The Wistful Silence
The air in the ballroom tasted of stale champagne and expensive perfume, a cloying mixture that coated the back of Elias’s throat as he stood by the marble column. At twelve years old, he felt the weight of the room’s gaze like a physical pressure, a suffocating blanket of judgment that pressed against his chest. The guests, men and women of significant wealth and older blood, looked at him...
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