The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-18 00:29:12 -

The Distant Ghost

The feast was a rotting thing. You sat at the head of the long oak table, the wood groaning under the weight of silver platters and the heavy, humid breath of the Assembly. The air tasted of burnt tallow and old wine. Around you, the Elders wore their masks of polished bone, the eyes hollow, the mouths slit to allow for the murmuring of decrees. They were the System, the great grinding machine...

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