The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-22 11:18:56 -

The feast was a thing of gold and smoke, a shimmering trap woven from the threads of a dying age. In the great hall of the estate, the chandeliers dripped with light, casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls that had stood for centuries, watching empires rise and crumble into dust. Marguerite sat at the head of the table, her posture rigid, her face a mask of serene indifference...

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