The Wistful Ashes
The chandelier above the Grand Hall does not flicker; it hums, a low, sustained vibration that you feel in your teeth before you hear it in your ears. It is a mechanical marvel, a cage of brass and glass suspended by counterweights and pulleys, a testament to the industrial age’s belief that light could be tamed, measured, and held still. You stand at the periphery of the banquet, your uniform...
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