The Wistful Ashes
You stand in the center of the hall. The air tastes of copper and old dust. The chandelier above is shattered. Glass hangs in the rafters like frozen rain, catching the dim light of the emergency bulbs. It is a beautiful, terrible thing. You do not blink. You have forgotten how. The building breathes. That is the first truth you learn here. The walls of the Central Registry are not plaster and...
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