The Distant Summer

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2026-08-18 12:44:39 -

The air in the Grand Hall tasted of stale champagne and rotting lilies. We were a congregation of the elite, draped in silk and old money, gathered to mourn a ghost that had not yet fully left the room. The chandeliers cast a yellow, sickly glow over the polished mahogany, reflecting the faces of those who had decided that justice was a commodity to be bought, not a right to be upheld. I stood...

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