The Wistful Mirror
Concetta Palermo stood before the glass, her hand resting on the cold frame, remembering the night the Minister’s eyes met mine across the banquet table. I was forty-two, a senior archivist at the Ministry of Cultural Heritage, and I wanted only to secure my position by cataloging the newly seized war records. What stood against him was not a person, but a weight, a silent, crushing disapproval...
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