The Faded Shield

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2026-08-18 18:17:45 -

The Faded Shield

The rain hammers the glass. You are wet. You are cold. The stone floor of the Senate chamber is slick. It reflects your face. It is a stranger’s face. You stand before the podium. The microphones are black spikes. They drink your voice. The room is vast. The wood is dark. The air smells of old paper and fear. You are Eleanor. You are the Secretary. You hold the pen. It is a fountain pen. It is...

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