The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-22 01:17:52 -

The Wistful Ashes

The hall smelled of roasted lamb and ozone, a cloying mix that sat heavy on the back of my throat as the High Magistrate took the floor. I stood at the edge of the dais, my ceremonial sash tight against my chest, its woven threads pulsing with a dull, rhythmic heat that I had learned to ignore over the last decade of service. The Grand Sorting Feast was meant to celebrate the city’s efficiency,...

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