The Wistful Ashes
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Continuity is a cathedral of glass and steel, suspended above the grey sprawl of the city, and the air within it is so thick with the scent of roasted lamb and lavender that it feels less like an atmosphere and more like a substance you must wade through, heavy and cloying against your skin. You sit at the long, polished table, your hands folded tightly in...
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