The Distant Ghost
The corridor stretches before you, a vein of polished obsidian reflecting the cold, sterile light of the chandelier, and you stand at its threshold, a man stripped of everything but the weight of your own history. You are Commander Elias Thorne, or at least that is what the brass plates on the doors claim, but in this labyrinth of marble and whispering silk, you are merely a ghost haunting the...
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