The Pale Bonsai
The banquet hall is a cavern of white lace and cold air, the silence so thick it presses against your eardrums like deep water. You stand at the edge of the dais, your uniform pressed to a razor’s edge, the brass buttons on your chest reflecting the chandeliers above in fractured shards of light. There are no names here. There are only ranks, and you are the lowest rung of the ladder that leads...
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