The Faded Apartment
The hall of the Ministry of Records was not a room so much as a lung, expanding and contracting with the rhythmic, stifling breath of the empire’s bureaucracy. It was a place where dust did not settle but hovered, suspended in a perpetual state of amber suspension, catching the weak light of the gas lamps that flickered along the high, vaulted ceiling like dying stars. In this vast, echoing...
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