A Tasting Menu
Simona Gherea impatiently surveys the front of the house, making a mental note to straighten the glasses at table number three, then turns to the young man fidgeting at the door.
"Adequate." she hands the phleb tech an envelope. "Next week on Saturday, about 9 pm, please."
He nods pocketing the envelope, and bolts up the mahogany staircase, his boots muffled by the plush carpet.
Candles glow at each table, casting a soft light on the re-purposed church alters. One recumbent figure stirs and moans a bit, trailing off into a whimper.
Simona is quickly at her side, brushing hair out of the elderly woman's face, and re-arranging her glasses.
"Shhh, shhh" she murmurs tenderly, brushing the side of her face. The woman subsides as Simona's paralysis spell is reinforced.
"Don't worry, my dear. It's just a tasting course; you'll hardly notice the loss."
Life begins on the other side of despair.
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