The Golden Crossing
The banquet was held in the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Records, a cavernous space where the air smelled of stale dust and expensive perfume, and you sat at the long table with a glass of wine that tasted like iron, watching the other archivists laugh and drink while your mind was already miles away, fixed on the pale, shrinking form of Clara in her hospital bed. You are Elias, forty years...
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