The Distant Clue
The reprimand letter lay on the desk, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the vanilla ink used for official correspondence. It bore the seal of the Ministry of Records, a heavy wax impression that had cracked slightly in the mail, revealing the black void beneath. You read it twice, the words blurring not from age, but from the specific, dry ache of humiliation that sits in...
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