The Faded Quadrant
Act I Who among us can truly say that memory is a faithful servant, or if it is not, what price do we pay for the lies it tells? Hovhannes Adamyan stood in the center of the archive hall, the air thick with the dry, papery scent of decay, and felt the weight of the missing page press against his chest like a stone in his throat. He was forty-two, a senior archivist in this ancient, crumbling...
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