The Golden Master
The ink on the Golden Master was fresh. I know this because I smelled it, a sharp, metallic tang of iron gall that clung to my fingertips like a wound that would not close, even as the High Chancellor’s office smelled of stale tobacco and old paper. I am Elias Thorne, Senior Archivist, and for forty-two years I have served the Ministry of Truth, believing that the state’s legitimacy was...
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