The Golden Quest
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey curtain that turned the world into a watercolor left out in the damp. In the dream, Thomas Bradshaw was standing in the atrium of the Ministry of Records, a place that did not exist in waking life but felt more solid than his own apartment. The floor was made of polished obsidian, reflecting the pale faces of the clerks who moved...
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