The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-18 02:28:58 -

The air in the server room was cold. It was sterile. It smelled of ozone and dust. Margaret sat in the dark. She wore a gray suit. It was ill-fitting. Her hair was pulled back. A tight bun. No makeup. She looked like a ghost. Or a statistic. The servers hummed. A low drone. A mechanical breath. Blue lights blinked. Red lights pulsed. The rhythm was steady. It was the heartbeat of the data...

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