The Wistful Throne
The memo lay flat on the mahogany desk, its edges curling slightly under the weight of the radiator’s heat. Elias picked it up. The paper was thick, cream-colored, expensive in a way that felt obscene given the department’s budget cuts. It was a rejection notice. Not for his tenure, yet, but for his preliminary catalog of the Halloway Estate. The language was bureaucratic, sterile, and final:...
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