The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-24 14:06:19 -

The match struck with a sharp, dry snap, the flint wheel grinding against the head like a tooth cracking. I held the flame up to the dry oak beam of the chapel’s eaves, the wood dark and rotting with four years of neglect and rain. The fire caught, a bright orange tongue licking upward, but the heat did not rise. Instead, it pulled inward, a vacuum of warmth that sucked the air from my lungs....

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