He sat at the table, lifted the stew with the golden spoon, and put it to his lips. The stew tasted like nothing. Not bland, but absent. As if the idea of taste had been removed. He swallowed. His stomach remained hollow. His throat remained dry. And then the first shadow appeared at the end of the corridor.
“Just your spoon?” Silas would sputter. “Do you know what that spoon could buy? You could pave your floor with silver. You could retire. You could eat with a new golden spoon every day for the rest of your life!” The Golden Spoon
And in the corridor, where the candles never went out, Silas sat alone at an empty table. The shadows were gone—fed at last. His hands were empty. His belly, for the first time in his life, was not hungry. He sat at the table, lifted the stew