The Faded Dust
The dust in the Imperial Archive did not settle; it hung in the air like a suspended judgment, thick and gray, coating the brass gears of the Great Meridian Clock with a fine, silvery film. You stood before the central console, your hands trembling not from age, though you were forty-five and your joints ached with the damp chill of the cellar, but from the sheer, terrifying weight of the...
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