The Faded Ruin
The file was stamped with a red seal that hummed against the cold laminate of the desk, a warmth that defied the climate-controlled sterility of the Ministry of Memory. You, Elara, thirty-two and an archivist of the lowest rank, held your breath as you touched the wax, feeling the heat seep into the pads of your fingers, a sensation that made the sterile air of the room feel suddenly thin and...
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