The Golden Scar
The chandeliers of the Ministry of Memory do not cast light so much as they dispense a sterile, white certainty that settles into the creases of your skin and the pages of the National Ledger, a brilliance that makes the shadows in the corners of the Grand Hall seem not dark but merely unverified. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a Senior Archivist with a tenure that has lasted...
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