The Distant Ghost
The rain does not fall so much as it is pressed down into the skin by a sky that has forgotten how to be empty. You are standing in the center of the rotunda of the Grand Meridian Hotel, a structure that once held the weight of empires and now holds only the damp, sour breath of its own decay, and you feel the water soaking through the thin fabric of your uniform, a uniform that is no longer...
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