The Distant Ghost
The heavy oak doors of the Hall of Mirrors groaned open, a sound like a long-held breath finally released into the cold, iron-scented air. You stood at the threshold, your uniform immaculate, your hands clasped behind your back with a rigidity that betrayed the trembling of your spirit. The year was 1904, and the Empire stretched its steel fingers across the continent, but here, in the gilded...
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