The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-19 02:02:37 -

The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Correctional Center smelled of boiled cabbage and old copper. It was a smell that settled into the fibers of the wool uniforms and stayed there, a ghost that refused to leave. I sat at the long steel table with the other officers, my tray balanced on my knees, holding a plate of food that looked less like nourishment and more like a punishment. The meat was...

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