The Golden Myth
The air in the sub-basement of the Whitmore Archive tasted of copper and dried lavender, a scent that had permeated my skin until I could no longer distinguish it from my own body. I was thirty-two years old, a textile restorer with a decade of service, and I had exactly forty-eight hours to complete the stabilization of the "Golden Myth" tapestry before the board’s final inspection on Friday....
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