The Wistful Ashes
The hall was vast, a cavern of marble and silence where the air tasted of stale incense and old stone. You sat at the long table, your hands folded over the cold porcelain of your plate, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of light that pierced the high, arched window. It was a banquet, or what passed for one in the Bureau of Perpetual Order, though there was no food, only the...
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