The Pale Tale
The ink in the ledgers of the Municipal Records Office does not behave like ink; it behaves like water finding a crack in a foundation, rising slowly, defying the pull of the earth, creeping up the page in delicate, capillary tendrils that stain the margins of the pre-war census data. I have watched this phenomenon for six months, from the quiet hours before the junior clerks arrive, when the...
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