The Pale Shadows
The ink was fading. That was the first thing I noticed, or perhaps the last, depending on how you slice the memory of that night. It was a banquet of sorts, held in the sterile, echoing atrium of the Municipal Records Center. Chandeliers of cold LED light hung above us, mimicking the old crystal fixtures that had been removed during the renovation. The air smelled of ozone and stale coffee. I...
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