The Unseen Guests

They gathered for one final meal, but none of them dared to reveal their faces. Not because they feared each other, but because truth had become too heavy to wear.

The bread was untouched. The wine remained half full. Three candles burned quietly, illuminating only the silence between them. Every seat carried a secret, every heartbeat a betrayal, every folded cloth a life that had learned to survive by staying unseen.

This was not the Last Supper of saints. It was the last supper of those who had forgotten who they were beneath the masks they chose to wear.

When the candles finally died, the table was left exactly as it had been, except no one could remember whose face had been hidden beneath the cloth.