The Faded Ruin
The brush was too stiff, and I knew it before I even touched the fabric. It was a standard-issue archival tool, purchased in bulk from the Ministry’s supply depot for twelve shillings a dozen, the bristles already splayed from overuse by a dozen hands before it reached my desk. I held it up to the single bare bulb hanging above the vault table, watching the dust motes dance in the cone of...
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