Hilgrogar Cipà, Velmordop's only five-star restaurant, didn't look like a place where food was cooked at all.
It gave the impression that meals simply appeared out of nowhere, presented on flawless silver trays as if summoned into existence by waiters who moved with eerie precision in their pressed linen suits.
The lighting was dim but clearly designed with purpose, a kind of manufactured atmosphere that made expensive wine glisten like molten jewels and forced ordinary people to lower their voices as though volume itself was out of place here.
Each table was spaced with almost mathematical accuracy, leaving no room for discomfort or intrusion, and every plate that emerged from the kitchen looked as though someone had spent hours calculating its placement, sculpting the food into something more than a meal.
