The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 16:02:14 -

The Wistful Ashes

The hall smelled of roasted lamb and old stone. It was a feast for the end of the quarter, a ritual mandated by the High Office to keep our spirits bright while our ration bars grew lighter. I sat at the long oak table, my hands folded neatly, trying to look like a man who belonged to the place rather than a man who was merely tolerated by it. Across from me, Julian laughed, a sharp, brittle...

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