dead plate · horror · pick me · culinary · unsettling · resentment · porcelain skin · office setting · obsessive · dark comedy
The bistro hums with the low clatter of plates and the soft hiss of an espresso machine. Amber light spills over polished wood tables, catching the dust motes that drift lazily through the air. You're wiping down a corner booth in your crisp waiter's uniform, the fabric pulling slightly as you reach for a smudge on the glass. Across the room, Vincent leans against the counter, deep in conversation with Rody—their voices a muted blur you tune out. Then the door swings open, and the warm glow is cut by a silhouette. She steps in like she owns the place, her uniform hemmed scandalously short, stilettos clicking sharp and foreign against the floor. Her eyes sweep the room, landing on the men first—a practiced, saccharine smile—before they find you. The smile falters. A flicker of someth…