The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-20 01:54:50 -

The Faded Bouquet

The ink on your hands has not dried, a viscous, violet stain that clings to the whorls of your fingers like the memory of a crime you are currently committing. You stand in the center of the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Internal Order, the air thick with the scent of damp wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear. It is a Tuesday, though the day of the week feels irrelevant in this...

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