The Faded Shield
The dust in the Archives of the Department of Anomalous Objects does not settle; it hangs in the air like a suspended breath, a fine gray veil that coats the eyelashes and the lungs with the weight of forgotten things. You sit at the long, scarred oak table, your back pressed against the cold window glass, watching the rain streak the view of the city into a blur of gray and slate. Your hands...
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