The Golden Circuit
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the paper thin and cold as the skin of a winter apple, bearing the seal of the Ministry of Continuity. I did not need to open it to know that the cycle had begun again, that the golden circuit was tightening its coil around my heart, pulling the threads of my life back into the familiar, suffocating weave. I sat at the desk in the archive, the dust motes dancing...
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