The Faded Ruin
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the ink still wet and smelling faintly of the chemical solvents used in the State’s administrative offices, a scent that had long since permeated the very wallpaper of the household. It was a simple directive, a termination of tenure, written in the sterile, unadorned font that the Bureau of Civic Harmony reserved for those whose loyalty had been deemed...
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