The Golden Master
The letter lies on the table. It is yellowed now, the ink faded to a soft, bruised purple. You hold it in your hands. The paper is thin. It tears easily if you are not careful. You are careful. You have always been careful. You are the Archivist. You know the weight of words. You know the weight of silence. You know that some truths are too heavy for the living to carry, so they are locked...
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