The Wistful Grid

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2026-08-18 14:55:04 -

The Wistful Grid

Your hand shakes. It has always shaken. The tremor lives in the bone, a constant, low-frequency hum that warns you of the void beneath the skin. You are a shield-bearer. That is your title. Your caste. You stand in the Hall of Mirrors, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old blood. The walls are not glass. They are flesh. They breathe. They watch. You look down. Your left palm is open....

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