The Faded Photograph
The rain outside the window of your small, cramped office at the Bureau of Anomalous Claims is not just weather, it is a persistent, grey accusation, a wet wool blanket draped over the face of the city, seeping into the cracks of the plaster and the bones of the old building, and you sit there in the blue twilight of your monitor’s glow, holding a photograph that has begun to bleed, not with...
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