The Golden Quest
The paper was damp. Not wet, but cold, a chill that seeped through the fingers and settled in the knuckles. I held it up to the light, the ink blurring slightly at the edges, and watched the water stain spread like a bruise across the page. It was a record from 1924, concerning the demolition of the old botanical garden’s east wing. The date was wrong. Or rather, the location was wrong. The...
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