The Faded Ruin
The departure from the High Office was not marked by a siren or a crowd, but by the quiet, rhythmic clicking of heels on marble, a sound that had echoed through the corridors of the Ministry of Continuity for thirty years, a metronome counting down the seconds of a life that had already begun to fray at the edges, leaving behind only the dust of ambition and the faint, metallic taste of defeat...
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