The Faded Root
The marble floor of the Grand Atrium was slick with a thin, iridescent film that we do not discuss in the morning briefings, but which I, as the Senior Curator of the Third Wing, could feel sliding against the soles of my shoes with every deliberate step. I stood before the Obsidian Stairs, the central architectural spine of the Ministry of Aesthetics, and watched the morning light fracture...
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