The Wistful Ashes
The ink was drying on the form when Elias Thorne noticed the error. He held the pen, a cheap plastic thing that clicked annoyingly when the cap was removed, and stared at the line that read: *Subject: Mara Thorne. Status: Executed, Treason, 1942.* His thumb rubbed the smooth, cold surface of the desk. The Ministry of Memory smelled of dust and ozone, a dry, sterile scent that coated the back of...
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