The Golden Mirror
The seal on the envelope was cracked. Not broken, but worn. The red wax had thinned over years of handling, the embossed crest of the Department of Archival Integrity now a ghostly impression. Mara Vane held it in her hands, feeling the texture of the error against her fingertips. It was a small thing. A bureaucratic scar. But in the silence of the room, it screamed. She was a Level Four...
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