The Distant Joke

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2026-08-17 15:07:46 -

The Distant Joke

The marble floor of the Grand Atrium in the Ministry of Cultural Heritage did not merely reflect the light; it absorbed it, holding the warmth of the afternoon sun in its cold, white veins. I stood at the threshold of the East Wing, my fingers wrapped around the brass railing, feeling the metal’s chill seep into my skin like a small, persistent ache. It was a building that breathed with the...

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