The Faded Ruin
The glass was cold. I held it in my palm, feeling the chill seep into the bone, a familiar ache. It was a simple thing. A tumbler. No etching, no silver rim, just clear, heavy crystal that caught the grey light of the hall. In this place, objects were not owned. They were assigned. They were evidence. I am Aldous. I have served the Council for forty years. My hair is white, my hands shake when...
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