The Faded Chronicle
You hold the sash in your hands, the silk frayed at the edges where the blood has dried into a stiff, dark crust. It is a relic from the Kestrel Ridge campaign, a piece of your life that no longer fits the room you are standing in. The Ministry of Internal Affairs is a cathedral of power, its walls paneled in dark oak, its floor polished to a mirror sheen that reflects the chandeliers above....
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