The Golden Master
The seal on the parchment was still soft, a warm bead of red wax that you pressed with your thumb, feeling the grease of the ink smear against the skin. It was a minor document, a requisition for paper, but the act of sealing it felt heavy in the hand, a small weight of authority that had been promised to you. You were Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior archivist at the Ministry of Records, and...
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