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The Tainted Cup
The whole house felt as cozy and comfortable as a surgeon’s knife.
Everywhere you saw his effigy, it was accompanied by the words Sen sez imperiya. And though this was written in Khanum—an old language almost no one spoke anymore—we all knew what it said: You are the Empire.
He watched me closely, his face sympathetic. “In the Legion they tell us to ask—do the walls still stand? Does the Empire persist? And if I can say yes to that, then I should feel satisfied with the day, and call it victory. We have to, I think. Otherwise, it’ll grind you down, Dinios.”
What a tool cynicism is to the corrupt, claiming the whole of the creation is broken and fraudulent, and thus we are all excused to indulge in whatever sins we wish—for what’s a little more unfairness, in this unfair world?