The Wistful Ashes
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Civic Harmony was a cathedral of beige, a vast, humming organism of plastic chairs and fluorescent lights that hummed at a frequency designed to suppress dissent, where the air smelled faintly of ozone and the stale, sweet perfume of institutional lavender that they pumped into the vents to keep us docile, and I sat there, my hands folded in my lap like a...
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