The Golden Cellar
The air in the Grand Hall of the Municipal Institute for Archival Preservation was thick with the scent of beeswax, stale wine, and the particular, metallic tang of anxiety that always preceded the Annual Audit. You sat at the head of the long mahogany table, your posture rigid, your hands resting flat on the polished surface as if to anchor yourself against the sudden, violent spin of the...
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