The Faded Alibi
I woke with the taste of copper and wet wool on my tongue, the air thick with the specific, heavy dampness that only exists in the hollows of the old world. It was not a dream, not entirely, but it possessed the fluid, unmoored logic of a dream, where time did not march forward in a straight line but pooled like water in the cracks of a stone floor. I was standing in the Archives, or what...
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