The Golden Downtown
The gold leaf came off the chandelier in flakes, dry and brittle as old skin, landing on the shoulder of my black gown while my father stood at the podium, his voice booming with the false resonance of a man who has never been told no. It was the annual Gala of the Magistrate’s Office, a night of mahogany and candlelight where the town’s power was displayed like meat on a hook, and I was...
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