The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-20 00:36:52 -

The first thing I remember is the red. Not the crimson of a rose or the rust of old iron, but a wet, arterial pink that seeped through the heavy velvet of the King’s court, staining the stone floor where the Chancellor had fallen. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, time had lost its grip on us in the days following the coup, and I stood frozen in the shadow of a marble pillar, my hands...

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