The Golden Farce
The rain fell in sheets against the wet cobblestones of the Ministry of Internal Security’s courtyard, a cold, relentless drumming that seemed to echo the hollow ache in my chest as I stood clutching my discharge papers and the yellowed deed to my late sister’s estate, a crumbling manor that was the last tangible proof of her existence, while Minister Vane, the architect of the regime’s latest...
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