The Wistful Dinner
Rosario Cabrera’s hands were shaking as he pulled the rusted latch on the iron box, the metal biting into his skin with a chill that had nothing to do with the cellar’s damp. He was thirty years old, a clerk in the Imperial Archive of the mining town, and he had spent the last six hours cataloging the ledgers of the late Emperor, his back aching from the hunched posture required to keep the...
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