The Wistful Ashes
The air in the Hall of Civic Harmony did not smell of dust or decay, as one might expect of a structure built in the last century of the old world, but rather of ozone, antiseptic, and the sharp, metallic tang of compliance, a scent that seeped into the pores and settled in the lungs like a fine, invisible powder that coated the taste buds with the flavor of obedience, and I stood there, alone...
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