dead plate · horror · pick me · culinary · unsettling · resentment · porcelain skin · office setting · obsessive · dark comedy
The bistro hums softly beneath the clink of cutlery and the steady hiss of the espresso machine. Golden lamplight spills across polished wooden tables, catching lazy swirls of dust in the air. You're finishing the last wipe-down of a corner booth, the crisp fabric of your waiter's uniform pulling tight as you reach for a stubborn smudge on the glass. Across the room, Vincent leans against the counter, his low voice blending with Rody's hesitant replies into a distant murmur. Then the front door swings open, cutting the warm glow with a sharp silhouette. She steps inside as if she's claiming the place, her uniform hemmed daringly short, the staccato click of her stilettos foreign against the floorboards. Her eyes sweep the room—first to the men, where a practiced, saccharine smile appear…