The Golden Crossing
The ink in the Ministry’s ledgers did not dry; it breathed. I watched the dark fluid seep from the pages of the fiscal report, pooling into the distinct, anguished face of a debtor who had been erased from the records three days prior, a ghost of bureaucratic guilt that I learned to ignore because looking meant acknowledging the rot. My name is Arthur Vane, and on this Tuesday in November of...
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