The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-22 17:02:59 -

The Pale Protocol

12 March, 1893 The feast is a lie we tell ourselves to keep the hunger at bay. The dining hall smells of boiled cabbage and wet wool, a scent that has seeped into the very pores of my skin since I took this post. I sit at the head table, the promotion to Head Warden hanging over us like a guillotine blade, and I watch the staff eat with the mechanical precision of clockwork parts. I need this...

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