The Distant Wound

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2026-08-19 16:56:32 -

The Distant Wound

The Great Hall of the Ministry of Sustenance smelled of boiled turnip and ozone. It was a scent that had permeated the stone walls over three centuries, settling into the mortar and the marrow of those who walked its corridors. Margaret stood before the central table, her hands resting on the edge of the obsidian slab. She was a Senior Auditor, a title that carried the weight of silence and the...

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