The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-20 10:50:52 -

The brass buttons on my tunic were polished until they shone like wet stones. I wore them to the annual gala. The room smelled of wax and stale sweat. Thomas stood by the window. He was thin. His uniform fit loose. He looked like a ghost trapped in wool. We had served together for ten years. We had shared silence more than speech. The music played. It was a waltz. It grated against my teeth. I...

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