The Wistful Ashes
The ledger for the Ministry of Records in Year 40 of the Silence lists three hundred and twelve entries for the week, each one a correction of a life that no longer exists. I count them with a stylus dipped in iron-gall ink, the tip scratching against the heavy parchment with a sound like dry leaves skittering over stone. The air in the archive smells of damp wool, old paper, and the faint,...
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