The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 06:04:35 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a grey, suspended fog that turned the marble columns of the Senate House into ghosts of themselves. I stood in the antechamber, my hands clasped behind my back, feeling the cold seep through the wool of my uniform. It was a heavy fabric, designed for authority, for presence, but today it felt only like a shroud. The room was vast, echoing...

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