The Distant Wound
14th of the New Cycle. The ivy is black today. It has been black for three days, a suffocating curtain that has strangled the ventilation shafts and turned the air in the Great Hall into a thick, stagnant soup. We lost three clerks in the night, their bodies found curled in the corners of the archive, their mouths open in silent screams, their skin grey and waxy from the lack of oxygen. The...
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