The Distant Ghost
The first tremor began not in the earth, but in the glass of my spectacles, a fine, spider-webbing fracture that split the view of the corridor into two disjointed halves, and I realized then, with a clarity that felt almost surgical, that the integrity of my own vision was as fragile as the institution that housed me. I am an archivist, a keeper of the paper dust and the silent histories of...
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