Plaything in one's palm
There was no room for ambiguity anymore.
He had completely forgotten about his own birthday. The date had lost all meaning in the timeless limbo of his imprisonment. So when he walked into the dining room on the morning of his twenty-third birthday, the sight that greeted him was a jarring, surreal interruption to his grim reality.
Sitting in the center of the otherwise empty table was a cake. It was large, elaborately decorated with intricate sugar flowers and delicate scrollwork of icing, a masterpiece of confectionery art. It was also chocolate. Lynn hated chocolate cake. He had mentioned it once, offhandedly, months ago, when Caius had offered him a dessert. He was surprised Caius rememb