The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-22 01:31:26 -

The hall smelled of roast goose and old money. It was a thick, cloying scent, heavy with the grease of wealth and the dust of centuries. General Thomas Bradshaw stood in the corner, his spine a steel rod beneath the wool of his uniform. He was not there to eat. He was there to be watched. The banquet was a cage of gold leaf and crystal chandeliers, a palace of power where every smile was a...

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