The Faded Quadrant
The air in the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Cultural Preservation tasted of stale dust and expensive perfume, a cloying mixture that clung to the back of Eleanor’s throat as she stood before the glass case, her fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of her own ambition. She was not there to observe the artifact, a faded quadrant of silk from a wedding dress dated...
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