The Pale Echo
The banquet in the glass-domed hall of the Vance & Thorne Actuarial Society was a cacophony of clinking crystal and performative laughter, a spectacle of industrial opulence that Elara Vance observed from the periphery with the detached precision of a woman counting the cost of her own survival. She stood by the pillar, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched a glass of untouched sherry,...
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